My Voice Will Haunt You
by shakeitsalome
Summary: Perfect job. Perfect husband. Perfect life. She thought she had it all, until everything came crashing down. Dean AmbrosexOCxJohn Cena.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Apologies for starting yet another story when I have so many unfinished stories go here. :)**

Chapter One

She kept an eye on the monitor as she applied another coat of lip gloss. Wincing at the sight of her husband being slammed into the steel steps, she tossed the tube onto the table and fluffed her hair. She had about five minutes to get into position for her pre-match talk with The Shield, which would occur just after her husband's match. It would take at least three minutes to get to the interview set, and another to go over what she had to ask. After giving her appearance a quick appraisal she left the dressing room. She realized too late that she'd forgotten to remove her rings and sighed, twisting them off her finger so she could hand them to one of the crew to hold onto while she was on-air.

Vince's demands were ridiculous. Anyone who searched her name online would know immediately that she was married to the man in the ring now. The company had even posted one or two photos from their wedding on the official website. Fans recognized her as his wife, but God forbid she wear her wedding rings at any event. She'd once thought of keeping them on a chain around her neck like her husband did, but even that was too prominent for the boss's tastes.

The three members of The Shield were already there. They chatted easily with the crew that was setting up the shot. Dean Ambrose's title belt gleamed in the bright lights, and she recalled that he would be defending it the next night at Smackdown. As she took the paper from the production assistant, she held out her rings.

"Hold onto these for me?" she requested, biting her tongue when the woman gawked at the diamond and shook her head. "Or not," she groaned, looking for someone else she could ask.

"Hey, Lizzie, you're late."

A shadow fell across her paper and she looked up to see Dean standing right in front of her. She furrowed her brow at the shortening of her name and glanced to the cameraman, who shook his head.

"Two minutes," he called to her.

"I'm not late," she informed Dean. Did he have to stand so close? Any closer and the oil or water or whatever he used on his hair would be dripping on her script. She would never understand why he and the other two doused their hair before going out. "And don't call me Lizzie."

"Oh, I'm sorry. How about Liz? Beth? El?"

"One minute, Elizabeth."

"You could call me by my actual name," she suggested, walking over to get in place when she heard her husband's theme playing in the arena. She felt the diamond digging into her palm as a microphone replaced the paper in her other hand. Looking around, she felt helpless as the three men moved into position on either side of her. Despite not really having a part in the interview, Dean stood close to her left side. She caught a whiff of stale cigarettes and cologne. Pushing her hand behind her back, she jumped in surprised when warm fingers slid over hers.

Dean kept his gaze on something beyond Roman as he plucked the rings from her palm. "Smile pretty, _Elizabeth_," he muttered in her ear as the bright light of the camera flashed on.

She was vaguely aware of his hand slipping into his pocket as she began to speak into the microphone. Ignoring the way he leaned in when she spoke, she directed her questions at Seth and Roman, who would be in the next match. She felt ridiculously tiny standing amongst them.

"Do you think that Dean's presence ringside distracts and confuses your opponents?" she asked, keeping her gaze on Seth and extending the microphone to him.

Dean covered her hand with his and pulled the microphone to his face. "Let me tell you something, sweetheart. If I distract or confuse them, that's their problem, alright? Unless I'm banned from ringside, I'm gonna stay right there. Because we're a team. Whether it's just one of us, two of us, or all three, we stick together. Believe that."

Seth nodded as Roman leaned close. Towering over her, his expression was cold and menacing as he growled the team's motto. Elizabeth didn't have to pretend that she was intimidated and made sure to cast a wary look to the camera just before the light switched off.

Dean smirked, giving her hand a squeeze before letting go. "You're really cute when you look scared like that, Lizzie."

"Thanks, guys," she said to Roman and Seth. It was probably her tenth time interviewing them on-air, but she never knew what to expect with either of the three. "See you after the match."

"It's a date," Seth called over his shoulder.

She laughed as the three walked away, knowing they were going to make their way around for their entrance through the stands. Watching them, she raised an eyebrow when Dean turned to give her another smirk just before slipping out of the door. Catching the barest glimpse of him patting his pocket, she felt her jaw slacken. He still had her rings. And he wasn't going to give them back before the match.

Her absurdly expensive diamond ring, bouncing around in his pocket while he watched Seth and Roman. Her equally expensive wedding band, with the embedded diamonds and a bible verse engraved inside faced the same fate and she could only stare at the closed door. What would she do if he lost one of them? How would she ever explain it?

"Hey, babe."

She turned at the sound of his voice, smiling when she saw him. His kiss of greeting was quick, his large hands catching her shoulders before she could embrace him.

"Better not. I'm all sweaty. You done for the night?" he asked, offering another kiss.

"I've got one more interview after the next match." She satisfied herself with placing her hands on his chest. "How was your match?"

"It was okay. I've got to finish signing those pictures for the giveaway. You seen Melissa?"

She nodded, thinking of his assistant. Before she could answer, though, his lips were over hers again. It was different from the previous, token kisses. He massaged her shoulders, lips slanting, tongue seeking. She knew this kiss well. It was Lovemaking 101. Heat began to pool in the pit of her stomach and she grasped his biceps, leaning onto her tiptoes to return the kiss.

"What time is your flight?" he asked, one hand moving down to palm the side of her breast.

"I'm carpooling with a couple of the girls," she reminded him. "We're leaving as soon as the show's over."

"Dammit," he groaned. "You better hurry your tight ass to the dressing room as soon as your interview is over."

"Baby…" She could hear music. "We'll have to be quick."

"I won't see you 'til Wednesday morning. I need some to tide me over." He kissed her again, grasping her breast tightly before setting her away from him. "Hurry your ass up."

"Just my ass?" she returned with a grin.

He grinned as well, shaking a finger at her as he backed down the hall. "See you in a bit."

She waited until he turned then made a dash for Makeup, where she begged for a tube of lip gloss. On her way back she passed a monitor and paused to watch as Cody pinned Seth for the win. The bell rang just as Dean dove into the ring, fists swinging. Cringing at the crazed look on his face, she hurried back into position and waited.

The interview was brief, ending with Dean flipping a table before storming away. Grateful when the camera was off, Elizabeth handed the microphone to the tech and breathed a sigh. She rubbed the back of her neck as she thought of her rings and, grimacing, headed off after Dean.

He was just outside, lit cigarette dangling from his lips as he removed the tape from his wrists. When he saw her, his eyes widened, the tip of his cigarette glowing as he took a drag. "Slumming it, aren't you, Lizzie?"

The snide tone wasn't lost on her but she ignored it. "You still have something of mine."

"You mean these?" he asked, throwing the tape into the nearby trashcan. He shoved a hand into his pocket and produced her rings. "Take 'em. That diamond's heavy as fuck, by the way."

She slid them into place on her finger, giving the princess cut diamond a quick polish on the skirt of her dress. "Thank you."

"How much did that set him back?" Dean asked, grabbing her fingers and tilting her hand so he could look at the diamond.

"I don't see how it's any of your business."

"I'm curious."

"Why?" she inquired, trying to pull her hand free.

"Maybe I'm in the market for one."

"If you must know, he had it specially made. I don't remember the actual price." She didn't dare mention how horrified she'd been when she'd seen the bill on the desk at home. Or that she thought the ring gaudy and too over the top. She would have much preferred a simple solitaire set in a gold band. Finally she yanked her hand free and adjusted the rings.

"Give him my regards," Dean called after her as she hurried back inside.

When she reached the dressing room Melissa was there. Perched on the small couch, the petite blonde was immersed in something on her laptop. She barely glanced up when Elizabeth entered and closed the door.

"That you, babe?"

"Yeah," she called, glancing to the closed door to the bathroom. Stepping out of her heels, she wriggled her toes and moved to the table to begin packing away her makeup. Her phone vibrated as she plucked it from her purse, and she read the message with a sigh. "I'm hitting the road in ten minutes."

"What?" The door opened and he leaned out. "Why?"

"They're almost ready. I need to finish packing." She replied to the message, assuring that she would meet the girls in the parking lot.

"Melissa can do that. C'mere."

"She's not paid to clean up—"

"I don't mind," the blonde piped up. Her smile was for the man in the doorway alone. "It's only your makeup and shoes, right?"

"Right…" Elizabeth sighed when her husband reached for her hand. "Thanks, Melissa."

She was pulled into the bathroom, her back against the door before it fully closed. "John," she gasped when he began tugging at her skirt. "Melissa—"

"Won't give a shit." He dropped the towel from around his waist and palmed her. "Can you cum in ten minutes?"

"No," she almost shouted. He should have known that, right? After nearly ten years of marriage? True orgasms were a rarity for her, and even little ones took a long time to build up. "Baby, you know I can't."

"Fuck," he grunted. "I need something."

He was hard, poking against her thigh. Seeing the desperation in his blue eyes, she wet her lips and gave a small nod. "I've got it," she promised, sliding her hands down his chest. He sighed with relief and kissed her before letting her go. She knelt on the hard floor, opened her mouth, and performed her wifely duties.

* * *

He was the first person she saw when she arrived for the Smackdown taping the next afternoon. Leaning against the building, cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he waved as she approached. At first she didn't recognize him thanks to the stained cap pulled low over his eyes, but as she neared she saw his smirk and braced herself.

"How's it going, Lizzie?" he called. The cigarette twitched, a clump of ashes falling to the ground.

She refused to rise to the bait. "Alright, I suppose. And yourself?"

"It's all good." He nudged the cap back on his head. "I wanted to apologize for last night."

"What about last night?" She rested her purse on the top of her suitcase and waited.

"The stuff with your rings." He gestured to her hand, one eyebrow raising when he noticed her fingers were bare. "I took them with me just to fuck with you. It was stupid and wrong. And I'm sorry."

Surprised at his gentle tone, she stared at him for a long moment. She never would have thought him capable of an apology. Of course, what little she knew of him was from watching him in the ring and their interactions on-air. Until last night, they had never spoken more than two words to each other when not working. Blinking when her phone dinged in her purse, she managed a small nod. "Apology accepted. And I offer my own for being a bitch."

Dean smirked, took a final drag from his cigarette, and let it fall to the pavement. "Yeah, you really need to work on that. Lighten up a little, huh?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It was a joke. Jesus. But you can be a little uptight. Especially when it comes to your asshole husband."

"What—" she cut off with a scowl. "What have you got against him? He's a wonderful guy."

"Save that shit for someone who cares. I know, I know," he added, holding up both hands before she could speak. "You're blissfully happy. You've known him forever. He kept you strung along until you were old enough to drink, and two weeks after popping your cherry he popped the question."

"You're disgusting. I'm not going to stand here and listen to this," she hissed. Snatching up her purse, she stepped around him, hating how angry he made her. With a growl, she turned to grab her suitcase. He was right there, causing her to rear back. "Please, leave me alone."

"I just have one question for you." His white-knuckled grip on the handle of her suitcase made it impossible for her to take it and leave. With a huff, she waited, growing angrier when he smiled and she noted the dimple in his left cheek.

"What?" she ground out.

"How much do you know about his little lapdog? That perky blonde that follows him around like a shadow."

"Melissa?" she clarified, anger giving way to confusion. "She's his assistant."

His chuckle sent a chill down her spine. "Sure."

"Why do you care?"

He lit another cigarette, eyes never leaving her as he drew in a lungful and released the smoke slowly. When the cloud began to float away he rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip. "Check out all the footage of our interviews."

"Do what now?"

"Our interviews. A friend pointed out something to me that, well, I was almost embarrassed that I'd let show. So go ahead, watch for yourself. If you don't see what he saw, and what I saw, you're either blind or stupid."

That damned dimple again. Her phone dinged several times in a row and she reached for her suitcase.

He handed it over with a small bow. "See you later, Lizzie."

**A/N: Yea or nay?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews/follows/favorites! You all rock. Enjoy! :)**

Chapter Two

Elizabeth loved working SmackDown. Without John, she was able to relax and interact more with her coworkers. She was sure he didn't mean to, but when he was at the show he monopolized her time. So she was grateful for the chance to nosh with the girls in Catering, enjoying the excitement as the crew rushed to get everything ready for the taping. She missed him, but she didn't miss the added work that was involved when he was in the building.

She avoided her laptop as though it were infectious, not sure she wanted to see whatever it was Dean insisted was noticeable, and she resolved to stay away from YouTube and the company's video database. Which became impossible as the afternoon wore on. She had to review the interviews from the night before. Her scripts only suggested the angle of the interview, not actual questions, and she always checked to make sure she didn't repeat herself. Leaving her laptop in her suitcase, she found the video tech and asked him to pull up the previous night's interviews for her.

Legal pad on her knee, she kept her gaze on the paper as she jotted down notes. When Dean's voice came through the headphones, though, she looked up to the screen.

_"Let me tell you something, sweetheart…"_

Her pen stopped moving as she watched. It couldn't be the leaning in. He always did that. Everyone she interviewed did that; it added intensity. Nor could it be the pet name. She had long ago lost count of how many times a wrestler referred to her as 'sweetheart' or 'darling' or 'honey' when talking to her. Tapping her pen against the paper, she skipped to the next video, resting her chin on her palm as it played. Nothing there. They had barely looked at her, though Dean had pushed her aside before flipping the table.

What had she missed? Or was this just another way of him to fuck with her, as he'd so eloquently put it? She couldn't imagine that something in their interviews had anything to do with them personally.

Ten minutes later, laptop in hand, she sank into a seat in the arena. She tucked an earbud into her left ear, leaving the right open so she could hear her phone. The video database took a moment to load and her fingers hovered over the keys before she typed in the search. Selecting the videos in order, she settled back and began to watch.

Three videos in, she noticed that he was always standing beside her. Again, nothing so out of the ordinary. He was considered the leader of the group, so it was only natural that he be in the center. But she began to notice other things. Little things. The fact that he always looked at her when she spoke. The dimple she loathed made a few appearances. The way he seemed to move closer and closer to her.

"Ridiculous," she muttered. What was this supposed to prove? That he had no concept of the idea of personal space? That he was intimidating? Skipping to the next video, she chewed on her bottom lip. It was from a pay-per-view – which one she wasn't sure – and she could remember his excitement over winning his first title. The excitement showed in the video. And so did that dimple.

She watched it again, smiling at the way his genuine love for the sport shone in the brief moments of bragging. She always loved moments like that. Sitting up straighter as the video neared the end, she skipped back, one eyebrow raising when, onscreen, he walked off. The camera panned to her, but not before Dean turned his head to look at her.

"Ridiculous," she muttered again, shaking her head. The rest of the videos were more of the same. Him watching her, him moving closer, him leaning in whenever he spoke to her.

What, was she supposed to believe he had a crush? She scoffed aloud at the very idea. They weren't in middle school. Still shaking her head, she shut down the laptop and looked to the ring. Roman and Bray Wyatt were inside, the former practicing his spear. She looked on for a moment then stood. The dress she was going to wear needed steaming. Pushing Dean's taunts from her mind, she hurried to the back.

"Hey, Elizabeth. Got a minute?"

She smiled, turning to slip into the Divas locker room when Brie called to her. Nikki was there as well, along with a few of the other Divas. Elizabeth smiled in greeting to them all and turned to Brie. "What's up?"

"I totally forgot that I was going with Bryan after the show," she said, mentioning her longtime boyfriend. "Nikki's taking a flight, too, so we can't carpool."

"No big deal," Elizabeth assured. She did math in her head and nodded. "I'll drive the rental home."

"Are you sure?"

"Alone on the road with full control of the heat and radio?" Elizabeth laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure. Have a safe flight."

"I still feel bad. I'll ask around and see if anyone needs a ride. That way you can split the driving," Brie offered.

"No, really, it's fine. Go have a great couple days off with Bryan. I'll see you later."

She texted John to give him the news, expecting a text in return, and was surprised when he called.

"You sure you're gonna be okay?" he asked.

"I'll be fine. I miss driving." Shaking out her dress, she reached for a hanger.

He was silent for a moment, then a sigh came down the line. "I didn't know that."

"That came out wrong. You know I love being on the bus with you." The cord to her steamer was too short to leave her dress hanging on the door and she wondered if Wardrobe would let her use one of theirs.

"But you miss driving."

"Not as much as I miss you right now," she promised. "How's your day been?"

"I did a couple radio interviews this morning, and Melissa finalized some Make-A-Wish plans for next week in… Where are we going? Right, Denver. She's excited. Her cousins are coming to the show so I'm gonna let her have the night off."

"Uh-huh." She hated the way her lips pulled into a frown at the mention of Melissa. Pulling her dress off the hanger, she draped it over her shoulder. "That'll be good."

"Oh, they want me to film some promos for the Network tomorrow. So I won't be able to see you until tomorrow night at the earliest."

"Are you going to Corporate?" she asked, leaving the dressing room.

"Yeah, I'll probably head up tonight. That way we won't have to make an early start in the morning. You know Melissa loves to sleep in."

No, she didn't know, and she didn't know why he felt it necessary to tell her. "I thought she was paid to assist you, not to sleep in."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what it implies. She should be looking after you, not vice versa."

"Really? You're pulling this jealousy shit now?"

Bringing the phone away from her ear to stare at it, certain she hadn't heard him say those words, she stopped in the center of the hallway. She drew in a deep breath to remain calm and tucked the phone back into place. "It was just an observation, John."

"Yeah. A shitty one."

"It is what it is," she muttered. "I'll call you when I'm leaving, okay?"

"Sure. Be careful, okay? That storm's near you."

"I will." She waited for a few seconds, grinding the toe of her shoe against the cement floor. "Love you."

"Love you too."

She shoved the phone into the rear pocket of her jeans and marched to Wardrobe. Grateful when one of the ladies took her dress to remove the wrinkles, she waited, inwardly fuming. Melissa, Melissa, Melissa, she thought with a roll of her eyes. Hating herself for thinking the worst, she was about to call John back to apologize when her dress was handed over. Effusive in her thanks, she carried it back to the dressing room, steps faltering at the sight of Dean leaning against the opposite wall.

He dipped his head in a slow nod in greeting. His jaw moved repeatedly, and she saw he was chewing gum when he opened his mouth to speak. "Got a minute?"

"Just one," she relented, gearing herself up for snide comments.

The foot not propped on the wall bounced to a tune only he could hear. Hands in the pockets of his jeans, he snapped his gum. "I heard you're riding solo tonight." His eyebrows rose in question.

"Yes…"

"You want a passenger?"

No, she did not. Especially if that passenger was him. But he looked almost hopeful and she immediately felt bad for thinking she would rather ride across the country in the back of a horse trailer than ride anywhere with him. Still, she hesitated. "Why?"

"Seth's girlfriend is here tonight and he's going back with her for our days off. And Roman decided to fly out in the morning." He shrugged. "If you don't, it's cool. I was just thinking we could split the driving."

"I'm going to Boston. Well, I'm going to Buffalo first to grab a couple hours of sleep, then going to Boston."

"So am I. Well, actually, I'm headed to Stamford, but that's just a couple more hours." His smile was brief, but the dimple showed. He pushed away from the wall, rolling his neck. "No big deal. I'll honk if I pass you—"

"Yes." Elizabeth bit her lip. Had she really said that? Obviously she had, for, though he'd already started walking away, he was now turning around to face her. Sighing, she nodded. "Sure. We can ride together."

"Yeah?" The smile returned, lingered this time. "Cool."

"See you after the show then?" she asked, opening the door to the dressing room.

"Sure thing. Hey," he called as she began to enter the room. When she turned, he smiled. "Thanks."

* * *

Door open, cigarette in hand, Dean sat sideways in the passenger seat. Fumbling with the controls, he scooted the seat back before swinging one leg inside to test the comfort. He repeated the actions several times, nodding his head to the beat of the song playing on the radio.

Behind the wheel, Elizabeth waited patiently. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, trying once again to call John. Each time she had tried since finishing her work her calls had been directed to voicemail. The two texts she had sent remained unanswered and, when she heard his voicemail greeting, she sighed and waited for the tone. "Hey, it's me. Guess you've already gone to bed. Just letting you know I'm about to leave the venue. Love you."

Her passenger closed the door with a bang as she ended the call. Stretching out his legs, he tilted the seat back. "Starting to snow."

She looked out the windshield and saw tiny flakes landing on the glass. They melted immediately, but she reached up to increase the heat. Wrinkling her nose when a thin trail of smoke danced in front of her face, she leaned back. "Can you crack your window?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. You okay to drive?"

"Yes. As long as the roads don't get too bad, I'll be fine." She tossed her phone into her purse, which she placed on the floorboard in the back. Settling back in her seat, she reached for her seatbelt, watching Dean's fingers drum on the center armrest. She wondered if he was every completely still. She had noticed that he always seemed to be moving. Whether it was a gentle sway from side to side, or a foot bouncing, or nodding his head, or fingers drumming out a beat on whatever surface, he was always in motion. "Did you want to stop for coffee or anything before we hit the highway?"

"Sure. Wherever you want to stop is fine, I'm not picky." He leaned forward to turn on the GPS. "So, how come you didn't just take a flight?"

She had wondered that herself, especially after agreeing to ride with him. Making sure the mirrors were properly adjusted, she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I probably should have. But with the weather and everything there would probably be tons of delays. I would have ended up sitting in the airport all night. How about you?"

"Not crazy about flying. I prefer the open road. Drive fast, blast music." He shot her a grin, making selections on the GPS. "Buffalo, right?"

"Right."

She stopped at the first gas station she came to, not wanting to detour too far to find anything better. The snow had begun falling faster and thicker; grassy spots and parked cars were collecting a thin coat. Shivering, Elizabeth brushed snow from the collar of her coat and made a beeline for the coffee. It was fresh, thank God, and she filled two large cups, making sure to add enough sugar to keep her awake. Adding a couple bags of chips and some gum when she reached the counter, she waited for the clerk to ring her up and looked for Dean.

"Your boyfriend in bathroom," the clerk said in stilted English. His lips spread into a broad grin. "I wait for his stuff too?"

"No, no, I'll pay for mine," she assured, hoping her expression wasn't to aghast. It was only natural, she supposed, for people to assume that two members of opposite sexes were dating. Especially at this late hour. Handing over the money, she picked up one of the coffees and took a fortifying sip. "Would you tell him I'm in the car, please?" she requested, smiling her thanks when the man promised he would.

She was still brushing snow from her shoulders to the sound of the windshield wipers scraping back and forth when the passenger door opened and Dean slid in.

"Hey," he laughed, balancing his large cup of coffee between his thighs as he placed his bag on the floor. "That guy thought you were my girlfriend."

"Did you correct him?"

"Nah. It's not like we'll ever see him again. Besides, I was too busy making sure he didn't fucking shortchange me." As he spoke, he leaned to one side and pulled out his wallet. It was then she noticed that he had a few bills clutched in his hand.

She removed her coat and was about to put it in the back when he slipped it from her grasp and did it for her. His own followed, and he returned her smile, adjusting the cap on his head.

"How are we on gas?"

"Full. Brie filled up when we got here this morning."

"Great. Let's roll."

"Seatbelt?" she prodded, buckling her own.

He nodded, somehow managing to strap himself in as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

She waited for two seconds then cleared her throat. "Window?"

"Alright, alright. Fuck," he muttered, flicking the switch so the barest of cracks appeared at the top. It did little to dissipate the cloud of smoke above his head. "Can we go now? Or do I need to get out and tuck in my fucking shirt first?"

Rolling her eyes, she didn't bother to answer and put the car in reverse. Within seconds she heard his fingers drumming on the armrest and, from the corner of her eye, saw his head start to bob up and down. The volume on the radio increased and she inwardly groaned.

It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Fingers crossed that the roll I'm on continues. Thank you all so much for the reviews. You have no idea how much fun it is to write this story. Enjoy! :)**

Chapter Three

Two hours into the drive. Elizabeth was clenching her teeth. The man beside her was driving her insane. If he wasn't bouncing to the beat of whatever song he'd found he was singing along.

Loudly.

Off-key. And she knew that was a show because she'd heard him sing along perfectly with a ballad, even though he'd only let the song play for thirty seconds before changing.

She was grateful that he wasn't making crude remarks. In fact, aside from asking if he could turn down the heat, he'd barely spoken to her. Apparently his preferred method of torture was acting as though he were in a mosh pit. It could have been worse, she thought, keeping her eyes on the road.

"Whoa, it's really coming down." He stopped bouncing and leaned forward to gaze out the windshield.

"Yeah." She was starting to grow a little anxious. They seemed to be driving into the storm. The further they traveled, the harder it fell; the nearly empty highway was white. She had already slowed down to well below the limit after feeling the tires slip more than once.

"You still good?" he asked, turning off the music.

"I think so." She couldn't look at the swirling snow; it hypnotized her, made her dizzy. Her foot moved to the brake pedal when she saw flashing lights and flares up ahead. A wreck; a bad one judging by the amount of service crews on the scene. Slowing to a crawl, she glanced at the blue sign listing lodging at the next exit.

"Holy fuck," Dean muttered as she crept by the multitude of fire, rescue, and police. The many bright, flashing lights cast a grotesque glow on the crumpled remains of a small car. A black bag, zipped and strapped to a stretcher, was being loaded into the back of an ambulance.

Elizabeth bit down hard on her bottom lip. The car looked to be about the same size as the one she was driving. "Dean..."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to go any further." She eased into the next lane, tightly gripping the steering wheel.

"Want me to take over?"

"I want to stop until this mess is over." She waited for a snide comment about the frailty of women. Or how she was smart to want to stop because women were terrible drivers.

Instead, he nodded. "Take the next exit. We'll crash until morning." He chuckled. "Bad choice of words. Sorry."

"You don't mind?"

"I'd rather be late getting where I'm going than never get there at all. Take the exit."

Breathing a sigh of relief she flipped on the turn signal, even though the exit ramp was at least a half mile away. Even though she was well past the accident scene she didn't increase her speed, fearing the same fate of whoever had been in the body bag.

The ramp was an incline, featuring a hairpin turn. As the car neared it she heard a soft, tinkling sound against the windshield. It was sleeting.

"Can you grab my phone?" she asked, eyes remaining on the road. "We can start calling to see if anyone has any rooms."

Dean muttered something, unbuckled his belt, and leaned into the backseat.

Elizabeth's foot slid to the accelerator, hoping to nudge the car fast enough to make the curve. Struggling to keep the wheel straight, she felt panic rise within her when the tires began to slide to the right. Without thinking she jerked the wheel in the opposite direction, crying out in alarm as the car began to spin.

He fell against her; she saw him slam backwards against the dashboard. Distracted, she jammed her foot on the brake, her grip on the wheel loosening. His hand clamped down over hers, forcing her to keep the wheel steady. The car continued to spin, and she could only scream in horror as the headlights illuminated the trees.

A lurch. The clang of metal against metal. The car rocked backwards then skidded to a complete stop. Foot still on the brake, Elizabeth stared at the rapidly falling snow, which contrasted sharply with the darkness of the woods.

"You okay?" Dean's voice was tense, his hand still secure over hers.

Shaking, she nodded. Unable to speak, she was certain her heart would beat out of her chest. The car rocked as he moved so he was facing forward and she held her breath, waiting for it to continue its perilous sliding down the embankment.

She was aware of him moving. His hand moved, pushing the gearshift into park. With each motion she expected the car to pitch forward. She could imagine the front tires hanging over a precipice like in so many bad movies she'd seen. If she moved, it would pitch forward. Even if she took her foot from the pedal it would careen into the trees.

"Hey… Lizzie." His voice was calmer, coaxing. "We're okay. The guardrail stopped us."

A tiny whine escaped her throat and she swiveled her head, relaxing only slightly upon seeing the guardrail. "We're okay," she managed through trembling lips. Her voice sounded tiny. Scared. "Oh, god."

Even though she expected them, the tears burned. Her hands left the wheel, shaking, and she covered her face. Next to her, Dean muttered a curse. His hand lightly touched her shoulder. "It's okay. I'll get us turned around, okay? Then we'll get to a hotel and if it has a bar I'll buy you a couple drinks."

"I d-don't drink," she replied.

"Trust me, you need one right now." He squeezed her shoulder before pulling his hand away. "Can you unbuckle?"

She nodded, dropping her hands from her face. Surprised when he handed her a crumpled paper napkin, she sniffled and began to clear away her tears. Her heart continued its extreme beating, and she felt chilled. As slowly as possible she slid her foot off the brake pedal. The car didn't move; her breath came out in a shudder. Closing her eyes in relief, she whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"Turn on the hazard lights," he requested. "And you don't have to be sorry. It could have happened to anyone."

"I shouldn't have tried—"

"Elizabeth—"

"John always tells me I'm a terrible driver—"

"Stop—"

"And I can't even get through to him to hear him say 'I told you so'—"

"Lizzie," he called firmly, and she opened her eyes to see his face right in front of hers. "Stop. We're okay. The car's fine. The bumper might have a ding or two from hitting the guardrail, but we're fucking fine. This fucking exit ramp would send anybody into the goddamn trees. And you don't have to tell John shit."

"But…" she gestured out the windshield, as though to point out some damage that he hadn't noticed. Realizing he was right, she sniffled and gave a small nod.

"He doesn't have to know about this, okay? It'll be our little secret."

"You want me to lie to him?" she asked.

"Are you gonna tell him I was with you?" he returned.

She looked down, hoping to avoid the challenge in his eyes. "I wasn't planning to."

"Then you don't have to tell him about your spin. Which, by the way was pretty awesome."

That brought her eyes up to his. "You've got to be kidding."

"The only way it could have been better was if you'd done a full three-sixty." He smiled.

A surprised laugh bubbled up her throat, and she found herself smiling as well. "Thank you."

She was sure she imagined the way his gaze dropped to her lips. "Now, move over and let me fucking drive."

Her hands still trembled as she fumbled with her seatbelt. Unnerved by his closeness, she reached to push the seat back. He caught her arm, guiding her over the console and into the passenger seat as he crawled over above her. There was a brief moment when their legs tangled that seemed to stretch into hours and she held her breath, unable to look away from his eyes. He looked away first, dropping into the driver's seat with a grunt.

She told herself over and over again that it was the near-accident that had her so jittery. It had nothing to do with him. Her nerves weren't in a tangle simply because he'd looked into her eyes. Her heart wasn't so jumpy because his thigh had rested between hers. She tried several times to push the thoughts away as he maneuvered the car until it faced the right way. Each time she thought she was successful, though, his eyes would flash in her mind and she was forced to relive it all over again.

Surely it was her near-death experience that had her focusing on Dean?

Drawing in a deep breath, she clutched her hands in her lap and kept her gaze out the side window.

Maybe she did need a drink.

* * *

Dean stopped at ten different hotels, only to be told ten different times that there were no vacancies. Creeping down a side street, hopefully towards the motel Elizabeth had found the number for and called, he kept one hand on the wheel. The other held a cigarette, but he'd barely touched it to his lips since lighting it.

She had no idea. Not even the slightest fucking clue.

He would have laughed if he thought she wouldn't ask why.

Glancing down at his cigarette, he sighed and flicked it out the window. The motel had promised there was room for them. No, they didn't take reservations, but they'd try to hold the two rooms. Of course, anyone with sense had sought a place to stay as soon as the storm had hit.

"Right at the next intersection," she said softly, breaking the silence.

He shot a glance in her direction and saw she was looking at her phone. Why she didn't use the GPS built into the dash he didn't know. Maybe she was afraid of touching anything in the car.

Dean didn't blame her for being shook up. He'd be lying if he said it hadn't affected him. Sucking in a breath and releasing it slowly, he tried not to remember her initial cry when she'd begun to lose control. And her scream. It had terrified him.

He slowed down to a crawl, leaning forward to check each way before making the turn. As he did, he glanced over in time to see her raise a trembling hand to push her hair away.

Briefly, he wondered if she'd been in an accident before.

"It's on our side of the road," she murmured. As she spoke, he saw the glowing yellow sign.

When he'd parked in the sole empty space, he turned off the headlights and looked at the V-shaped building. "It's a dump."

"As long as it's got a bed, I don't care."

"I doubt they have a bar." He flashed a grin, reaching to unbuckle his belt. "I'll have to get you that drink some other time."

"Sure."

"Stay," he told her when she reached to open her door. "I'll go check in."

"Stay," she repeated in a mutter. "Will I get a treat if I behave?"

Okay, she was alright now. Maybe being off the road reassured her. But did she have to say shit like that? He shook his head. Not a fucking clue. "If they have biscuits at the desk, I'll bring you one."

Her laugh followed him out of the car, warming him against the biting cold.

The office smelled of Pine-Sol. The linoleum floor was wet with melted snow. The counter was cluttered with odds and ends. The tired-looking woman sitting behind it had a cigarette in one hand and a phone to her ear. Dean waited as she talked, his fingers drumming against the counter.

She angled a look at him. "What?"

"Two rooms." He gestured behind him. "We called."

"Oh yeah. I only got one left." She sucked hard on her cigarette.

"A double?"

"Yeah." She muttered a quick goodbye into the phone and hung up, groaning as she got to her feet.

He breathed a sigh of relief. There was no way he could handle sharing a bed with Elizabeth. Especially tonight. "Great. I'll take it."

"Checkout's at ten."

Dean turned to look at the snow falling outside. "I'll pay for two nights," he decided. "Just in case."

"Uh-huh." She slapped a piece of paper on the counter. "Fill that out while I run your card."

"It's cash." He pulled out his wallet and began scribbling his information on the form. "I don't guess I can smoke in there?"

"Sure. Just don't flush the butts in the toilet. Makes the sewage back up in the tub."

"Great. I'll remember that." He doubted Elizabeth would like it. Signing his name, he frowned. She didn't like cigarettes. She didn't drink. What the hell did she do to relax?

"If you need extra towels let me know. I'll be in here 'til two. Ice and vending machines are in the closet two doors down from your room. And your room is at the end." She pushed the cash into her pocket. From the pegboard on the wall she got the last key and tossed it onto the counter. "Don't make too much noise. Enjoy your stay."

"Yeah," he drawled, pocketing the key after noting the faded number. "I'm sure I will."

Elizabeth looked up from her phone when he opened the door. He knew just from her expression that she had been trying to call John. And she hadn't been successful. "Well?"

"One double room. Pop the trunk, I'll get our shit."

She climbed out when he closed the trunk. Shivering already, she shouldered her purse and followed him down the snow-covered sidewalk to their room.

It smelled musty. She had to flip the light switch three times before the bulb sparked to life. When it did, he dropped their bags.

"I thought you said it was a double."

"That's what she told me."

Elizabeth sighed. "Maybe she meant the bed itself is a double."

Groaning, he closed the door. The lock stuck; he jammed his hip against the door to make sure it latched tightly then fastened the flimsy chain. "It's either this or sleep in the car."

The carpet was threadbare in places; there was a dark stain in the corner. She turned slowly, taking in the faded wallpaper and stained ceiling. And when her eyes met his he expected her to say she'd rather sleep in the car. Instead, she shrugged and removed her coat.

"It could be worse."

He supposed it could. He'd stayed in worse places. At least the room was clean. Well, sort of. Taking off his coat, he tossed it onto the bed, nudging the mattress with his knee. "Christ," he muttered when the slight movement set off a symphony of creaking springs. "Do you want to check the bathroom or should I?"

"I've got it," she promised. The light clicked on and he sensed rather than heard her sigh. "No leaking faucets. The shower curtain's in one piece. I don't see any cockroaches or blood."

He laughed, turning his attention to the TV. The remote worked and as she rummaged through her suitcase he surfed through the channels, finally settling on local coverage of the storm. There was an ashtray on the nightstand, right next to a 'No Smoking' placard. Pushing the sign to the floor and kicking it under the bed, he pulled out his cigarettes.

"Did you need the bathroom?" She had a bag in one hand, a change of clothes in the other.

"Nah, go ahead."

Waiting until the door had closed behind her, he sank down on the bed and sighed. Elbows on his knees, he smoked, shoving a hand through his hair. He could hear her moving around. Brushing her teeth. Undressing.

God, if he existed, had a sick and twisted fucking sense of humor, he decided with a groan.

Rubbing his face, he groaned harder when he heard the shower start.

"God, you are a cruel fucking bitch," he muttered, glancing to the ceiling. "Thanks a lot. Asshole."

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The thumping against the wall increased. Bedsprings screamed in protest, almost drowning out the guttural moans and grunts. Streams of livid curses echoed as she continued to beg for him to go harder. Thumps became steady banging. And she began to scream.

"Un-fucking-believable," Dean growled, dragging his shirt over his head. He turned, banging his fist against the wall. "Hey! Some people are trying to fucking sleep!"

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing when the couple in the next room continued their noise. "They probably couldn't hear you."

He rolled his eyes. "They just don't give a damn." He banged harder on the wall. The banging in the next room ceased. "At least move her to the goddamn floor!"

Eyes widening, she gaped when no more thumps, bangs, or squeaking springs sounded. The moaning and shouting continued, but were now muffled, as though the couple had moved to the other side of the room. "You're horrible."

"It worked, didn't it?" He held up a hand, head nodding slowly, then raised one finger as a sharp scream sounded. "And…done," he announced, grinning as the couple went silent.

"You're enjoying this too much," she muttered.

"Bullshit." He loosened his belt. "You done in there?"

"Yeah, go ahead." She kept her gaze on the neatly organized contents of her suitcase until she heard the door close behind him. She'd half-expected him to finish stripping in front of her. Grateful he hadn't, she tucked her toiletry bag into place and perched in the sagging armchair. Phone in hand, she checked the time and sighed.

Still no word from John.

She scrolled through her contacts list, pausing when she saw Melissa's name. She vaguely recalled the girl calling her with a message from John while he was in a meeting and then saving the number just in case. Thumb hovering over the name, she finally tapped it and waited for the call to go through.

It rang once. Twice. Then nothing. About to try again, she froze when she heard a grunt, then the rustle of fabric.

"Phone," a male voice mumbled. He sounded sleepy, and Elizabeth could see him in her mind's eye.

A feminine sigh. "Who is it?"

"I dunno. Hurry up, though."

A giggle. The unmistakable sound of a kiss. "Mmm. Stop. I'll be sore tomorrow."

"Good."

"Hello – John, stop!"

Elizabeth, hand over her mouth, lowered the phone and abruptly ended the call. Dropping it to the floor, she kicked it away. As though by doing so she could change what she had heard. She stared at it, jumping in surprise when she saw the screen light up, heard the dull vibration. She stood, stepped over, and saw John's name.

"You've got to be kidding me," she whispered. Careful not to touch the screen, she bent to pick it up. She clutched it in her hand, felt it vibrate wildly, and flung it across the room. It slammed against the bathroom door with a sickening thud, then fell to the floor in pieces.

Half a minute later the door opened and Dean's wet head poked out. "Th'hell was that?" he asked.

"That," she ground out, arms folded tightly over her chest, "was my asshole of a husband, who's probably fucking his assistant right now."

For the second time that night, she began to cry.

"Fuck," she heard him mutter. The door thumped shut and, glad to be alone, she sank onto the bed.

Was she the first? Or just the latest? Did he love her? Or was he just getting a fix? Was it because she was away? Had they been sneaking around behind her back for weeks? Months? The entire year that Melissa had been working for him? Did anyone else know? Why hadn't she noticed? Why hadn't she been told?

The questions jumbled in her mind as she folded her knees to her chest. They swirled like the snow outside, gathering until she was sure no more could fit. But they continued, a new one for each tear that fell from her eyes. Then came the one that she knew would haunt her.

What had she done to send him into the arms of another woman?

Whimpering, she hugged her knees, unaware of Dean's presence until his arm carefully draped around her. She initially tensed, craving solitude, but when his hand smoothed over her hair she let her head tilt toward his chest.

"Let it out," he murmured, continuing to stroke her hair.

"You knew," she squeaked. "You knew and didn't tell me."

"Would you have believed me if I had?" he asked softly.

"Yes. No." She began to shake. "I don't know."

"Then there you go."

Turning into him, she grabbed for the front of his shirt but her fingers clutched at bare skin. "What did I do?" she asked, anger brewing just beneath her sadness. "What did I do that pushed him away?"

"Lizzie…" It was little more than a sigh. "Who said you did anything?"

"I had to have done something," she stressed. "Didn't I make him feel loved enough? Didn't I take care of him when he was sick? Didn't I stick by his side? What did I do?"

"I don't know. But I don't think it was your fault."

"Of course it is," she hissed, pushing away. He refused to let go, though, and she shoved at his chest. Her mind brimmed with John's complaints over the years. "I don't make time for him when I'm working. I don't keep the bus clean. I'm a terrible cook. I don't laugh enough." Furious when Dean still held her, she slammed a fist into his shoulder. "I don't enjoy sex. I'm hard to please. I don't swallow." A crazed laugh escaped her as she continued to bang her fists against him. "I do everything wrong! Who could blame him for wanting someone else?!"

Dean's hold remained firm, seemingly unfazed by her blows. He dragged her to her feet, hands moving to grasp her arms. Too late she realized she could have pulled away. Continuing to take out her anger and frustration on him, she thought of all the times John had criticized. She had worked so hard, had thought their lives were perfect. His brooding face appeared in her mind and she sobbed, wanting only to hurt him.

The hands on her arms pushed her away as her palm began to sting. She stumbled back and fell against the nightstand, saw Dean place a hand over his cheek. Panting, she realized what she had done. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Dean."

He shook his head, rubbing his cheek. Opening his mouth wide, he moved his jaw from side to side. "Remind me to never piss you off," he muttered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't… It…" Her voice faltered and she cleared her throat, slowly regaining her feet. He'd been nothing but nice to her all night. He'd even comforted her on the road. And this was how she repaid him? "I'm sorry."

He nodded, tongue wetting his lips. "Yeah."

"I swear I didn't mean to hurt you." She tensed, fearing payback when he stepped closer. One arm reached around her and she saw the faint red mark on his cheek. The glimmer in his eyes made her knees buckle. "Dean—"

But he grabbed something off the nightstand behind her. Cigarettes, she realized, shoulders sagging. He remained close, shaking out two. Eyes never wavering from hers, he lit both, face impassive when she raised an eyebrow.

When he plucked one from his mouth and offered it, she shook her head, backing away.

"Smoke the fucking cigarette. If I had something else to calm you down I would. So take it." He persisted until, back to the wall, she finally took the cigarette between two trembling fingers.

The first touch of smoke to her lungs made her cough. Fearing what he would do, she tried again, eyes watering.

"Now," he murmured, his own cigarette tucked firmly in the corner of his mouth. Resting one hand on the wall by her head, he stared at her, unnerving her to the point she had to look away. "Tell me something."

"What?"

"Why did you think I'd hit you?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone reviewing and following. I don't get the chance to reply to every review but please know I take them all to heart. Some make me grin, some make me giggle, and some even make me think. Thanks so much! :)**

Chapter Four

Elizabeth stared at the cigarette in her hand. It was easier than looking at Dean. Unsteady from the few drags she had taken, she wondered how he thought it would calm her down. She wanted to ask him if he was sure only tobacco was inside but doubted he would allow the subject change.

"Lizzie," he sighed.

"It only happened a couple times," she blurted. The ashes at the end of her cigarette sagged and she tried to look around him for the ashtray. It was impossible to see anything but him, though, so she could only watch as the ashes fell to the floor at her feet.

"Define 'a couple' for me."

"It hasn't happened in a long time." She knew she was defending John but didn't know it was wrong until Dean yanked the cigarette from his mouth.

"What. Did. He. Do."

Even though she had an inkling that his anger was directed at her husband, she shivered. Taking a deep breath, she rolled the cigarette between her fingers. "He lost his temper. I goaded it out of him. I should have—"

"Don't." His eyes closed briefly and she could sense his body tightening. Glancing to the hand on the wall, she saw it had curled into a fist.

"Don't what?" she whispered.

"Don't defend him. Don't you dare put the blame on yourself." He sucked angrily on his cigarette, directing the exhalation of smoke at the ceiling. "After what he's done, please don't try to make it all your fault."

"But it was," she insisted gently. "He'd just found out he was going to lose a match."

"You're kidding me. Does he have a fucking hero complex or what?"

"I don't know. He… He likes being the guy that wins. He likes the kids looking up to him. He—"

"Has a fucking hero complex." He gave his head a shake. "Tell me, Lizzie. Tell me what he did."

"It was just a slap," she sighed, tentatively taking another drag of the cigarette. It didn't burn this time.

"That sonofabitch," he whispered, tossing his cigarette aside. She only hoped it landed in the ashtray.

"He apologized, Dean."

"Yeah. Sure. Promised it'd never happen again. Showered you with love and presents to show you he loved you." Both hands on the wall, he shook his head. "Then he did it again."

She hated the scorn in his voice. She also hated the fact that he was right. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You don't have to," he was quick to assure. "You've got enough shit to deal with right now."

She nodded, watched another clump of ashes fall to the floor. Taking one more drag, she managed to inhale and exhale without coughing or choking. "I'm sorry I hit you, Dean."

"Eh," he grunted. "I probably deserved it."

Elizabeth felt the heat of his fingers above her cheek, but his hand dropped before fully touching her.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he said, stepping away. "I'm… I'm gonna go finish my shower."

She nodded, inexpertly tapping out the cigarette in the ashtray.

He turned at the door, scraping his wet hair back. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine," she promised, wondering if she had any gum in her purse. Looking up, she caught him watching her. "Really."

"Pick out which side of the bed you want," he suggested, and her gaze instantly went to the bed.

She'd forgotten they would have to share. Strangely, neither had suggested that one take the floor. And she didn't feel guilty about sharing a bed with him. They were friends…sort of. "Okay."

"Find something good to watch if you can."

"Dean." Despite everything, she wanted to laugh. "Next you'll be telling me I can have an ice cream if I behave."

He smiled, officially breaking the tension in the room. "Ice cream I can't give you. Maybe a snow cone?"

This time she did laugh. "Go shower."

* * *

"No offense or anything, but what the fuck are we watching?" Dean asked.

Next to him, Elizabeth sighed. "_Rebecca_."

"Never heard of it." He dumped Skittles into his hand. While he'd showered, she'd gone to the car to get the junk food they'd bought. She'd doubly surprised him by cleaning out the vending machines next to their room. The ice bucket was full, and she had found two cups for them to use.

"It was Hitchcock's first Hollywood film," she murmured. When he didn't immediately respond she took the bag of Skittles from him. "_Psycho_?"

"That one I've heard of." He reached for his drink, groaning when the movement sent his phone to the floor. He hadn't checked it since leaving the arena. Unlike Elizabeth, he didn't have people worrying about him. Well. He supposed Seth and Roman would worry, but not so soon.

Leaving it on the floor, he leaned back against the thin pillow, grateful that no sounds had started up in the next room. He hoped that he hadn't just jinxed himself and took a sip of his drink, eyes on the screen.

"Who's she?"

Elizabeth groaned and fumbled between them. The remote landed in his lap. "You choose something."

"No, you wanted to watch this."

"I don't want to explain every detail though." Her smile was brief. "Go ahead. I can watch this anytime."

"Well," he drawled, already picking up the remote. "If you insist."

He aimlessly switched from channel to channel, pausing only long enough to disregard the program before forging ahead. Barely paying attention, though, he went through the entire channel selection twice. Watching her from the corner of his eye, he noticed that she had arranged a handful of Skittles in front of her. He continued to channel surf, focusing on how she organized the candies first by color, then from most to least. When she popped two reds into her mouth to even out the numbers, he chuckled.

"Find anything yet?" she asked, eyes on her task.

"Nope," he answered quickly, turning his attention to the TV. He stopped at a rerun of an old sitcom and, satisfied, tossed the remote aside. "How's this?"

She raised her head and nodded. "Sure."

Pushing his drink onto the nightstand, he looked on as she peered into the Skittles bag. "…Question."

"Hmm?"

"Do you eat every candy in order, or just Skittles?"

"Skittles, Starburst, Jolly Rancher…" She shook a green Skittle into her hand and added it to the lineup. "Anything with different flavors and colors."

"So it would piss you off royally if I helped myself to one?"

"Please," she muttered with a roll of her eyes. "I'm not that anal-retentive—Dean!"

He grinned, chewing the grape-flavored candy with relish. Soaring when she began to laugh, he reached for one of the bags of chips. "Don't worry. He died with honor."

"You're impossible."

"No," he disagreed, holding up a chip for inspection. "You're impossible. I happen to be very possible."

Her laugh was like music. She gave up organizing her candy and popped one into her mouth. Sobering, she arranged the candy into a circle. "It feels good to laugh. But at the same time it feels wrong."

"How come?"

"It's obvious my marriage is over."

Hoping she didn't expect him to offer sympathy, he merely looked at her. "Yeah?"

"I can forgive a lot of things. But not infidelity."

It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that she should have left long ago, but he bit it back and selected another chip.

"It'll be hard."

"Why?"

"We work together. I'm sure the rumors will start soon. If they haven't already." She picked up another Skittle. "You know how everyone is. If I don't say why we're splitting up, they'll think I've cheated. If I do say why, they'll think I made it up so I could have some of his millions."

"Who the fuck cares what they think?" he asked bluntly. "It's your life, not theirs. If you want to announce why you're leaving him, do it. It's not like his fucking around is some huge secret."

She stared at him. "What do you mean?"

Dean realized how sheltered she was from all the gossip. Tucked in Cena's private dressing room had perks, apparently. And it wasn't as though he went around asking for updates on the rumor mill. Hell, he tried to fucking avoid it as much as possible. But some things leaked through. People didn't know how to shut up, especially when the golden boy had been seen groping his assistant. Obviously, being under John's thumb protected her from all of that bullshit.

"Nothing," he muttered after a few minutes had passed.

"No, tell me."

"Haven't you had enough upsetting shit for one night?" He rubbed his jaw.

"Dean… Please."

"Why do you want me to tell you?"

"Because I know you'll tell me the truth. I hope you will, at least." She gathered the remaining Skittles and dumped them back into the bag. "If you're just going to fuck with my mind, then don't say anything."

Why did watching her mouth form dirty words make him forget what she was saying? Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he sighed. "They're just rumors."

"Dean." She turned to face him. "What did you hear?"

"It's just little backstage shit. Most of it is stupid, like somebody talked to somebody who talked to somebody else that saw him cop a feel in Catering. Or some bullshit like that. And I guess somebody saw him fooling around with…"

"You can say her name," she murmured.

He didn't want to. But he did anyway. "Melissa. And a couple of the Divas were talking a few weeks ago about how much he likes to eat pussy." He saw her flinch and looked down. "I could have worded that better. Anyway. They could have been making it up. I didn't ask."

"But he doesn't," she blurted. "He doesn't like the taste. He tried it a few times and told me he hated it."

"Fucking idiot," he muttered. "He must have been doing it wrong."

"I wouldn't know." He glanced up in time to see her shrug. "It was years ago and I didn't have anything to compare it to."

Surprised by her bluntness, he stayed quiet and digested the information. "Wait a minute," he said. He sat up, tongue darting over his lips, and stared at her. "You're saying that he hasn't gone down on you in years?"

"Ye-es." She dragged the syllable out slowly, brow furrowing.

"But he has…" Of all times for his verbal filter to kick in, he thought with a brief glance to the ceiling. Forging ahead, he met her eyes. "But he does make sure you cum. Right?"

Her cheeks colored and he knew.

"What a fucking joke," he snorted.

"I fail to see the humor."

"How long has it been?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How long has it been," he repeated slowly. "Since you came."

"Can we change the subject now?"

"No, we can't. I'm curious."

She began gathering all the candy and chips. Her cheeks remained a deep red as she slid off the bed to stow the food next to the TV on the dresser. She walked back over and began brushing her hands against the sheets.

Dean waited. He had a feeling that the longer he stayed silent the more agitated she would get. Laying back, one arm tucked behind his head, he watched her. Her lips pressed into a thin line, she picked up the remote and placed it at his side. He kept his eyes on her, though. Any minute now, he thought, she would—

"Ten months," she snapped.

"Seriously?"

"Yes I'm serious."

"Don't you masturbate?"

"Of course I do."

That was a surprise. He had really thought her too uptight to do it. "And you—"

"I manage to find…some pleasure," she said slowly. "But it's not earth-shattering." Her chuckle was sad. "It's not even room-shattering."

Dean pursed his lips in thought. "I don't believe it."

"What's so hard to believe? A lot of women have trouble reaching orgasm."

"Yeah, sure, if they're just starting out. Or with a guy who doesn't know what the fuck he's doing."

"I don't believe you're an expert," she snorted. She'd moved to the door, checking the locks.

"I've been around."

"That I believe."

His eyes continued to follow her. She obviously had a routine she followed before going to bed. She hung his towel in the bathroom. He felt bad when she began picking up the clothes he'd left on the bathroom floor, but she came back into the room with them already folded and placed them on top of his suitcase. She turned off the TV, made sure the curtains were closed. Then, finally, she got back into the bed. Unable to let the topic rest, he cleared his throat. "So he won't go down on you."

"Dean…"

"But I bet he made you go down on him."

"Do you want to watch some more TV?"

"Fuck the TV. Did he?"

"Dean—"

"And he's not man enough to use his mouth on you. What a fucking winner he is. Does he even try to get you worked up? Or are you supposed to be so grateful for his dick that you flow like a river when he pokes it against your back?"

"Stop!"

There was pain in her voice and it was like a punch to the gut. Regretting his words, he fought to find the proper way to apologize. "Lizzie…"

"Don't." Elizabeth punched her pillow and though her movements were gentle the bed shook. Back to him, she laid down, dragging the covers up to her ear. "Good night, Dean."

Defeated, he murmured a reply and turned to switch off the light. He barely heard the springs as he tried to find a comfortable position. Finally giving up, he propped himself up on his elbow, able to pick her out in the small bit of light that came in around the curtains. Without realizing it he moved closer, resting his hand between them on the mattress.

"I'm sorry, Lizzie," he whispered into the darkness. "I'm an asshole. I just… I hate to see you hurting."

"Why?"

"Because it hurts me." Honesty was the best policy, right?

Again she whispered, "Why?"

"I'm crazy," he sighed. His hand crept forward. He couldn't see, but he sensed his fingers getting closer to her.

She huffed. "I knew that already."

He smiled and let his fingers graze her back. "I mean I'm crazy about you." She didn't speak and he closed his eyes, dragging his fingers to her shoulder. When she didn't shy away he allowed himself to hold on for a moment. "I have been since I met you."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"If not now, when?"

She didn't have an answer for that. Her shoulder slipped from beneath his hand and he knew she'd rolled over. "Can we talk about this in the morning?" she asked softly.

It was already morning. But he nodded even though she couldn't see him and began to draw his hand back. His fingers brushed over hers, though, and when they latched onto him he realized she'd been reaching for him.

Flirting with danger, Dean traced her palm with his thumb. He finally lay down fully, holding his breath. Her fingers squeezed his and then she was moving closer. As though he'd done it a million times he brought his arm up to accommodate her, surprised when her hand landed on his chest. Closing his eyes, he let himself enjoy the sensation, carefully tucking his arm around her.

"Lizzie," he murmured.

"Just hold me. Please." Her head joined her hand; her hair fell across his skin like a silken sheet. "You've comforted me a thousand times already tonight. Please, let me have some of that again so I can fall asleep."

He finally breathed, his arm relaxing around her. Making sure the covers were securely over them, he raised his hand. It hovered just above her head for what seemed hours. When it lowered, smoothing over her hair, he heard a sigh.

Her sigh. One of relief. "Thank you," she breathed.

Dean was sure she still had no clue. She probably hadn't believed him. Given his history with her, she no doubt thought he was fucking with her mind again. He continued to smooth her hair as her breathing evened out, then let his fingers curl in the loose locks. "Sweet dreams, Lizzie."

* * *

She awoke to the feel of his breath against her neck. Keeping her eyes closed, she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the warmth. Sometime during the early morning hours they had rolled onto their sides. One arm was beneath her, fingers relaxed against her arm. The other arm was draped over her waist, his large hand resting protectively on her stomach. His head was tucked next to hers; she could almost feel his lips at the back of her neck.

Without meaning to she stretched her back, aware of his legs behind hers. The hand on her stomach moved, and she heard him groan softly. He pulled her back to him, his lips brushing her neck as he shifted his head. His fingers slipped beneath her t-shirt, searching, and she remained still, breath caught in her throat.

"Mornin'," he mumbled, stirring the arm beneath her.

"Morning," she whispered. His hand crept up, fingers brushing the bottom of her breast. Her breath came out as a gasp when he nuzzled her neck.

His hips were rolling against her, shifting her attention to the hard ridge pressing to the small of her back. Not wanting to but powerless to stop, she wriggled, tucking her backside firmly against him. "Mmm," he groaned against her neck.

"Dean," she gasped, surprised at the way her body responded to his lazy touches. His fingers continued to stroke the bottom of her breast; she felt her nipples tighten and harden, the gnawing in the pit of her belly giving way to a flood of warmth.

The arm beneath her moved, his hand coming to rest over her chest. The tips of his fingers danced over her nipples, causing her to moan at the friction. Diverted, she didn't notice his other hand had slipped away until he began to trace the waistband of her sleep pants.

"Dean." It was a whisper. A warning. A plea. She wasn't sure which. Not until his fingers began to gently pull at her aching nipple.

"If you want me to stop…"

"Please," she whispered, "don't."

He growled, hand pushing at her sleep pants. She lifted up to assist him, lips parting when he guided her back down. "It's okay," he promised, his voice still rough with sleep. "Just relax."

"Dean—"

"Shh." His hand slipped inside the pants, already stroking, diverting her attention yet again. "I've got you, Lizzie."

Turning her head to look at him, she sighed when his lips instantly covered hers. His kiss was slow, tender, lingering. She pushed her lower knee forward to grant him better access, moaning into his mouth as his hand covered her. His thumb traced circles on her abdomen. Lips moving to the corner of her mouth, he began to stroke her.

"Oh," she gasped, bewildered by her sudden desire for him. Her hips rocked on their own accord and she grasped his wrist, fearing he would stop.

"I'll get you there," he promised before kissing her again.

"You'll get tired," she whispered sadly.

"Then I'll just switch hands," he murmured. "Relax, Lizzie."

She couldn't. She'd had a taste of him. She wanted more.

His fingers moved slowly. Releasing her breast, he cupped her arm, holding her against his chest. Secure, she covered his hand with hers, trying to keep her breathing normal. His lips moved to her neck. Warm breath caressed her skin.

Her heart tripped in her chest. When he guided her onto her back she continued to hold onto his hand, hips wriggling. His mouth returned to hers. Trembling, she dropped her hands to the mattress, instinctively lifting her hips when he pulled at her sleep pants. A whine pulled from her chest when his hand left her. It returned quickly, the stroking motion increased, and she grasped his shoulders.

"Hear that?" he whispered, lips next to her ear. "Hear how wet you are?"

"Yes," she hissed. Uncomfortably warm, she turned her head to suck in a deep breath. On their own, her hands trailed down his bare chest, then further. Just as her fingers brushed the waistband of his sweatpants his hand caught her wrists, gently steering them above her head. Surprised, she met his eyes. "Don't you want—"

"This is about you," he reminded, fingers tapping the inside of her wrists. "Not me."

About to answer, she instead sucked in a breath, hands returning to his shoulders. He spread her, fingers sliding over her entrance. Arching her hips upward, she dug her nails into his skin, breath pulling from her lungs when his fingers glided up to her clit. "Shit," she whined as a tremor rocked through her.

"Is that it?" he asked, tugging at her shirt as his fingers worked over her clit. "Is that what you need?"

"More," she requested, shameless.

His body shifted; he straddled her thigh and she heard him groan. He gently palmed her bared breasts then, pulling at one nipple, he dipped his head to catch the other between his lips.

"Dean," she cried, hands sliding into his hair. The tender warmth was becoming a raging fire. He rolled her nipple between his teeth, sucked lightly, flicked it with his tongue, then began to suck hard. She writhed, eyes closing. Pinned beneath his body, she squeezed her thighs together, whimpering at the unrelenting muscle between them.

A finger entered her, joined quickly by another. He moaned around her nipple, pumping slowly, his thumb rapidly working back and forth over her clit. Biting down on her nipple, he released it and turned his attention to the other.

She hadn't been this close in a long time. Panting now, she curled her fingers in his hair, body growing taut as his fingers continued to fuck her slowly. "Please," she gasped, trying to rock her hips. "Oh god, please, please…"

Dean propped his hand next to her head and, releasing her nipple, moved his lips to her cheek. "You can do it," he whispered.

"Don't stop," she begged, tears gathering in her eyes at the thought of him ceasing his actions.

"Come on, Lizzie." He nipped at her earlobe. "Do I need to work it faster?" he asked. As he spoke, his fingers increased their speed. In reply, she shuddered, crying out. "Does your clit need it slower?"

"Oh, fuck," Elizabeth growled, legs tangling around his. The faint flutter of his thumb against her clit sent a shockwave of pleasure through her.

"Come on," he urged softly, raising his head. Their eyes locked and her heart pounded. His hand shifted, thumb tenderly stroking the side of her neck. "I want to see how beautiful you are when you cum. Let me see, Lizzie. Please."

"So close." Her voice was a high-pitched whine. "Don't—"

"I won't," he promised, his voice sounding far away. "I won't stop."

She heard what sounded like waves crashing in her ears. Immediately her body seized up. Tightening her thighs around his, she held her breath as the pleasure ripped through her. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She screamed. Her head fell back and she saw stars as the bliss took over, crying out his name repeatedly.

So warm. So peaceful. So damned good. Still trembling, she was only vaguely aware of him moving above her. She could still feel his fingers pumping, his thumb fluttering. In the haze of her mind she realized he'd meant it when he'd said he wasn't going to stop. Her body jerked in surprise when his breath fanned over her thigh. "D-d-d-d," she stuttered. Her tongue was too thick to speak properly. She eased her grip on his hair, whining when he pulled out his fingers.

A squeal filled the room at the first touch of his tongue. Heavy arms draped over her hips, holding her still while he explored. Releasing his hair, she groped for his hands, grasping them just as his tongue flicked over her clit. The tremor that zipped up her spine was more powerful than the earlier ones and all she could do was hold on. But, she realized when his tongue dipped lower, he wasn't attempting to make her come again. He was gentle and thorough as he licked her clean, occasionally moaning. When she thought she would die from the added pleasure he gave her one final, tantalizingly slow lick and shifted to press a kiss to her inner thigh.

"Damn," she whispered. Dazed, she turned her head to stare at him when he moved to lie next to her.

He licked his lips. Reaching to pull her shirt back down, he traced her navel with the tip of his index finger. A smirk touched his lips, and she glimpsed the dimple as his arm slipped around her waist to pull her close. "For the record, Lizzie, you're delicious."

"Thank you," she murmured. Her hands rested on his chest and she smiled, realizing their legs had tangled. "For not stopping." Pressing a kiss to his lips, she burrowed closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Thank you. For everything."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The amount of snow on the sidewalk made it impossible to leave the room. Dean opened the door even though he knew there was no need. The wind had blown the snow into deep drifts. He whistled, realizing the drifts along the sidewalk of the motel would be well above his knees. If he absolutely had to he could crawl out, but…

"Yeah, we can't go anywhere," he told Elizabeth.

"Wait," she called as he moved to close the door.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her slide out of bed. He caught a brief glimpse of bare ass before she yanked her shirt down.

"Going to make a snow angel?" he asked.

"Hardly. Here, tuck these in the snow to keep them cold." She gathered the drinks she'd gotten from the vending machine the night before.

Good idea. Squatting, he did so, making sure the caps were visible before closing the door. "And it's still fucking snowing."

"They said on TV that it's going to snow all day." She was crawling back into bed. No, she was getting her sleep pants.

He watched her step into them and pull them up, momentarily hating the shirt that concealed his view. "I'd kill for some coffee," he announced. Not bothering to lock the door, he shuffled over to examine the old coffeemaker on the table in the corner. A notepad lay next to it, with all of two sheets left, and an uncapped pen.

"I've got some in my suitcase." Elizabeth had already pulled it onto the bed and was shaking out a sweater.

"You travel with coffee?" he asked in surprise.

"Most hotels that stock coffee in the rooms don't have my preferred blend." She pulled the sweater over her head, letting it hang awkwardly on her shoulders as she moved things around in her suitcase. Plucking out a large Ziploc bag, she shoved first one arm and then the other into the sleeves.

"You have a preferred blend," he deadpanned.

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Only yuppies," he muttered so she couldn't hear, catching the bag when she tossed it to him. A small pouch of coffee was inside, as well as a measuring spoon and filters. "I don't. Iced coffee in the summer, sure, I'm picky. But just regular coffee for that jolt of caffeine? I could give a fuck what the blend is."

He heard a muffled vibration as he took apart the coffeemaker. Thinking at first that it was her phone, he paid it no attention, handing her the jug so she could rinse it out and fill it water. It wasn't until she gave him a look that he remembered her phone was broken. In fact, unless she'd picked them up, the pieces were still on the floor by the dresser.

"Grab that," he said, taking the jug.

He hated the idea of someone interrupting their time. He knew that eventually they'd have to make contact with the outside world, but he'd hoped they'd at least have the day. Stepping into the bathroom, he turned on the water, glancing through to see her kneeling by the bed to locate his phone.

"It's Seth."

"Fuck," he muttered. "Answer it. He's annoying as shit and will keep calling."

"But it's your phone—"

"Yeah," he interrupted, swirling water in the jug.

She mumbled something but, when he glanced through again, she was putting the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

Dean would have paid good money to see Seth's face when Elizabeth answered. Able to imagine it, he chuckled, giving the jug another rinse.

"It's Elizabeth. …Yeah, we got caught in the storm."

Bless that storm, he thought with a smile.

"Sure. Hang on."

He turned and she was standing in the bathroom door. They switched, he taking the phone and she taking the jug. Leaning in the doorway to watch her, he pushed it against his ear. "Yeah?"

"Dude." Seth was laughing. "How the fuck did you end up caught in the storm with her?"

"Long story."

"Does her husband know?"

"Not yet." Dean lowered his voice. "And he's not going to find out. Is he?"

"My lips are sealed. So what happened?"

"You want the long story or the short?" She was coming back, their to-go cups from the gas station in hand.

"Can you give these a rinse?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he answered, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Do you like sugar? Cream?"

"A lot of sugar. A little cream." Her eyes met his and he watched her cheeks darken. Smile widening, he slipped the cups from her hand. Pressing the phone to his chest, he whispered, "I know it won't be as sweet as what I had in bed, but it'll have to do."

Her cheeks became even redder. "Dean…"

"I'll rinse out the cups," he murmured, staring at her. Her tongue darted over her lips and she gave a shaky nod.

"Thanks."

He brought the phone back up and stepped into the bathroom again. "Well?" he demanded. "Long story or short?"

"What the fuck was all that mumbling? Jesus… Long story, definitely."

Even though Seth had requested the long version, Dean left out several details. The revelations about Elizabeth's relationship with John. Having to share a bed. The fact that John was definitely fucking his assistant. He finished with the deep snow and the certainty that they were stuck there for at least another day.

"Shit. Does anybody know where she is?"

"Her phone broke." Which was, technically, the truth. "So, no, I guess not."

"What are you not telling me?" Seth asked quietly after a moment.

"A lot. And, yes, I'll tell you later," Dean muttered, tapping the cups against the edge of the sink to shake out the excess water.

"If Cena—"

"He can't do shit."

"So let me get this straight." Seth cleared his throat. "You and Elizabeth shared a rental. The storm got bad so you ended up sharing a room in some hole in the middle of nowhere. Her phone's broken, her husband doesn't know where she is or that she's with you, and after a few hours of sleep you and her are suddenly buddy-buddy?"

"That's about right."

He smelled the coffee as soon as he exited the bathroom. It was a pleasant aroma, reminding him of local coffeehouses he'd visited while traveling. Placing the cups next to the coffeemaker, he saw she'd brought out sugar, a few packets of creamer, and a plastic spoon. He was beginning to think she had everything in her suitcase.

"Did you fuck her?"

Seth's question was so abrupt and unexpected that Dean laughed. "No," he chuckled. Unable to resist, he gave Elizabeth a long look while she pulled more stuff out of her suitcase. "Definitely no."

"Ambrose didn't get lucky even in a blizzard. I'm almost disappointed."

"I resent that, you jackass."

"Well you've got another day or two to wear her down. If she gets desperate even you might start looking good."

Dean shook his head. "It's not like that."

"Okay, okay. You'll have long, heartfelt conversations. You'll share deep secrets about your pasts and bond over some as-yet unknown similarity. Hey, maybe she likes the same shitty music you do. Is your iPod charged?"

"Fuck you," Dean laughed.

"I love you too. Take care of yourself, man. And her, too. Even if I don't like Cena, she's pretty cool."

"Yeah, she is." Elizabeth glanced back at that, and he offered an enigmatic smile. "I'll check in so you know we haven't frozen to death."

"Updates are appreciated. Hey, don't forget, skin-to-skin contact is best to generate heat—"

"Bye, Seth." He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed.

"It's nice of him to check in on you," she offered, continuing to rummage in her suitcase.

"Yeah. Roman will be calling as soon as Seth lets him know I'm stuck in the snow."

"You're all really close, then?" she asked.

"Almost like brothers. You know, we trained at FCW together. Then came our debut and we've been together ever since. We have a lot in common, which helps. Sometimes we fight over what music to listen to or whose turn it is to drive, but it all works out." He stretched his arms above his head, not muffling his yawn. "What are you looking for?"

"I thought I had some sweats in here." She began placing things back into the suitcase. Each item of clothing, he noted, was precisely folded.

"I've got another pair. They might be a little baggy but you can borrow 'em." He glanced over to his suitcase, which lay open on the floor. His unkempt habits were evident; several shirts lay haphazardly on the floor. A lone sock was draped over the side.

"But won't you need them?"

"Lizzie, I've got a shit-ton of clothes crammed in there. And, go me, they're all clean."

"Really? I pegged you as the type to wear something until it was nasty then just throw it out and buy new." Her smile was teasing. "I'll get them after coffee."

"I'll… Try to find them," he muttered.

"How many sugars?"

"Depends on how strong the coffee is."

"It's almost lethal."

"Start with six." He tried to shuffle through all the things crammed in his suitcase. Giving up, he lifted it and dumped the contents on the bed. "Found 'em!" he called triumphantly, plucking them from the pile. He heard her scoff, then she was returning with his cup. "Thanks."

"Thanks," she echoed, taking the sweatpants. Draping them over her suitcase, she went back to fix her own coffee.

* * *

"You know you don't have to fold my shit, right?"

It was the third time he'd asked that since she'd started. What, she wondered, was she supposed to do? Wide awake now that she'd had her coffee, she could hardly flop on the bed and watch TV.

"I mean, I do know how to fold clothes—"

"Dean. I don't mind doing it. As long as they're clean." She nudged one item closer to him. "And as long as you do the underwear."

"They're clean," he insisted.

She attempted to smooth wrinkles from a pair of jeans. "Am I allowed to say that I'm surprised you know how to run a washer?"

He rolled his eyes, but smiled. "I'll have you know I've been doing my own clothes for years. I even know to separate the darks from the lights."

Elizabeth clapped a hand to her chest and gasped. "Next you'll be telling me you know how to use an iron. No, don't," she added faintly before he could speak. "I'm not sure my nerves could take such a shock right now—"

He grabbed her arm, causing her teasing to end in a squeal. Laughing, she dropped the jeans, squealing again when he pulled her onto the bed. She pushed feebly at him, grinning once he'd caught her wrists. Staring up at him, she continued to laugh, though it died away as he covered her body with his.

Thinking of the time they'd spend in bed together that morning, she bit her lip. She knew that, given the opportunity, she would do it all again. And then some. She refused to feel guilty. He'd done what she'd thought was impossible. It hadn't been because he wanted something in return, or just an aside from getting his own pleasure. Or had he lied? Did he want something in return?

"What's got you frowning, Lizzie?"

He still called her Lizzie. Not that she'd asked him not to. It was kind of nice, having someone call her by a nickname. Everyone else in her life called her Elizabeth. "Just thinking."

"Well, you're frowning. So it can't be about me."

"You're so conceited," she groaned. "And it was about you."

"What'd I do?"

She sighed, missing his weight and warmth once he'd moved to lie next to her. "This morning."

"That's what's got you frowning?"

"Why did you do it?"

"Because you needed it." He smirked. "If ever anybody needed to cum, you did. It sure as hell loosened you up."

"Oh."

"_Now_ why are you frowning?"

"You said you were crazy about me." Or had she dreamed that? Sitting up, she rubbed at her temples.

"Lizzie," he sighed. "What's wrong? Are you feeling guilty?"

"No." It was only a little lie. She didn't want to feel guilty. But she was. He said nothing and she finally nodded. "A little."

"Why?"

"I made a vow, Dean. I stood up with him and announced to the world that I would love and honor him. And I have."

"Okay. He made the same vow, didn't he? Or did his have a footnote?" He moved around so she could see his face. "Lizzie. He cheated on you."

"And I'm cheating on him," she whispered. Immediately she thought of her parents. They would be shocked. Dismayed. They would be even more upset when they learned of her plans for divorce.

"So what's the problem? You believe in an eye for an eye, right?"

"In some instances, yes. But I also believe in turning the other cheek."

"You already did. He hit that one, too, didn't he?"

"Don't be an asshole." She climbed off the bed and swiped her hand over her eyes.

"It's what I am, Lizzie. I've never tried to be something I'm not." The bed protested as he sat up. She heard him light a cigarette. "But you weren't worried about cheating this morning."

"I know," she whispered. Needing something to occupy her hands, she crossed to the coffeemaker and emptied the last bit into her cup.

"You think he feels guilty? You think he's sitting wherever the fuck he is worried about what he did last night or this morning?"

"I don't know." She doubted it. "Do you…"

"What?" he pressed softly when she sighed.

"Do you think he ever…" Repulsed by the very idea, she closed her eyes and tried again. "Do you think he ever went from her to…"

He waited a moment until it was obvious she couldn't form the words. "Do I think he fucked and then fucked you?"

She winced at the blunt wording. "Yeah, that."

"Who knows. Probably."

Elizabeth drained the coffee in a gulp then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. A chill had descended upon the room. As though the outside weather had found a way to creep in. "Have you ever cheated?"

It took him so long to answer that she turned to look at him. After several more moments had passed, he lifted one shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. "They probably thought it was cheating. But no, not really."

"Either you did or you didn't…" She walked back to the bed, fearing the stack of folded clothes would topple. "It's none of my business."

"I guess it depends on your definition of cheating." He rolled his cigarette between his fingers. "Some people think it's cheating only if you actually fuck. Some think it's anything more than flirting. And some probably think flirting is cheating."

"What's your definition?" After placing the folded clothes in his suitcase, she sat on the edge of the bed.

"Depends on the relationship." A smile touched his lips when he groaned. "Seriously. Let's say that you meet someone. You're into them but it's not going anywhere right now. And while you're waiting for something to happen with them, you run into someone you've had some good sex with before. You've got an itch, they know how to scratch it, so you fuck." He shrugged. "To me that's not cheating, because there's no defined relationship with the person you want."

"I guess we agree on that," she murmured.

"Then there's casually dating… Still not cheating. Exclusively dating… Kind of cheating. That's when it gets iffy." He took a drag and offered her the cigarette.

She surprised herself by accepting it and taking a tentative puff. "What about our situation?"

"_Our_?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. "We're a thing now?"

"Just say that we are." She refused to define what they were. If they were anything at all.

"Well." He sighed, looking at her. "I'd say you're not quite cheating on him. He's had years to find the key. How you lasted this long without getting someone to pick the lock is a mystery to me. You needed something he couldn't give you."

She almost laughed at his analogy. "But I'm not quite cheating," she mused, taking a full drag off the cigarette. Watching the smoke swirl to the ceiling as she exhaled, she passed it back to him. "What does full-on cheating entail?"

Cigarette between his lips, he watched her. Between drags, he rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, eyes never leaving hers. He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, his steady gaze unnerving her. "Full-on cheating…"

Anxious to hear his definition, she turned on the bed, one foot resting on the floor.

"I guess that would be you going back for more."

She didn't notice his hand moving until his fingers traced the top of her foot. "I see," she murmured. "So, going to get my lock picked after being given the key would be cheating?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, pretty much. But, you know, if you need me to show you how to use that key a few more times…" His tongue darted over his lips. "I don't think that would be full-on cheating. Trying out a different key would."

Elizabeth smiled at their continued use of analogies. It eased the tension of the discussion. "I understand now. Thank you."

He groaned when she pulled her foot away and got to her feet. "So what are you going to do?"

"Right now I'm going to finish folding your clothes. Then I'm going to take a shower. After that I might borrow your phone to call my boss. I should let them know where I am. Unless it hits eighty tomorrow, we won't be leaving here." Picking up the nearest piece of his clothing, she shook it out.

"That's not what I meant. But okay." He leaned down to get the remote. "I'll check the weather. While you're in the shower I'll call in. Then we should see about getting some real food."

"They're going to realize we're together." She chewed on her bottom lip, worried about what their coworkers would think. "A lot of people saw us leaving in the same car—"

"They don't have to know we're in the same room, Lizzie. Fuck, I can keep a secret, alright? We'll just say we're at a motel."

She nodded, continuing to chew on her lip. She would use the room's phone. That way there wouldn't be questions about why she was calling from Dean's number. To be sure, they would notice that. "But Seth—"

"Knows to keep his fucking mouth shut, too." He gently rubbed her arm. "Relax."

_Relax, Lizzie. I won't stop._

Releasing her bottom lip, she drew in a slow breath and focused on folding the shirt in her hand. She could still taste the cigarette on her tongue. It only reminded her of his kiss. And, though she knew she would anyway, she tried not to think of how badly she wanted to try out that different key.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: A special thank you to everyone for the reviews. Rock on, y'all. :)**

Chapter Six

They had chips and candy for a snack. Elizabeth brought the drinks in out of the snow, grateful for the cold soda even though she shivered while drinking it. She supposed they could have considered what they ate an early lunch, but it was hard to get excited about such meager offerings. Seated Indian-style on the bed, she remained silent as Dean talked to one of Sean's assistants.

"No, no, no, there's no way we're getting out of here today. Or even tomorrow." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck while looking out the window. "Do I need to take a picture of what's outside my room and send it to you? Haven't you seen the news? It's practically up to my waist and it's still snowing. I can't even find the fucking car and you expect us to drive out right now?"

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"Yeah, she's here." Dean's forehead met the closed door with a dull thud. "Do you wanna talk to her?"

Levity gone, she jerked her head up and gaped. What was he doing? Shaking her head when he turned, she motioned to the phone so he would know she didn't want to talk.

"We ended up at the same hotel. Crazy, right?" He smiled, still speaking into the phone. "Not hardly. We got the last two rooms in the joint. They're adjoining. …No kidding? I think her phone died or something. I don't know. It's not like we're joined at the fucking hip, Carl. Yeah, hold on." He covered the phone with his hand. "John's looking for you."

"Fuck," she muttered.

"Knew you'd say that. Here, talk to Carl and verify my story." Before she could protest he pushed the phone into her hand and helped himself to a handful of chips.

"Hey, Carl," she greeted. Picturing the short, wiry man that darted around backstage, she wrinkled her nose.

"Why didn't you fly out? Paul is going to be pissed."

"Seeing as there's nothing we can do about what I did or didn't do, why don't we focus on what we can do?" she asked primly.

"And what's that?" he asked with a groan.

"We can either stay where we are and be safe, or we can try driving a little four-door Dodge and end up in the bottom of a ravine."

She could almost see him rubbing his forehead. "You're right. But Jesus, getting caught in a blizzard. Why didn't Ambrose—"

"I can't answer for him, but I'll be damned if I get out there before the roads are clear." It was the first time she'd been assertive to a superior. She was surprised at how good it made her feel to stand up for herself, even if just a little bit. "And considering he's one of the top draws right now, I really don't think Paul or Vince or anyone else would want him trying to drive in this."

Carl muttered under his breath. "Fine, fine. I'm sorry if I was a dick."

"Aww, Carl. You weren't a dick." She smiled. "You were a douche."

He actually laughed. "Thanks. Ambrose said your phone died?"

"Hit the sidewalk when I got here." That was the story she'd decided on.

"You might want to call your husband."

She didn't necessarily _want_ to. But she knew she had to. "I will."

"What's the name of the place you're at? If Paul or somebody needs to call you—"

"Just tell him he can get me through Dean's phone. He has the number." Not waiting for him to question her further, she ended the call and tossed the phone aside.

"So." Dean examined a chip before popping it into his mouth. "You gonna call him?"

"Yes." She crumpled the empty bag in front of her. "As soon as I remember his number."

* * *

Dean eyed the depleting amount of junk food with a sigh. "We need food. Real food."

The bed squeaked and groaned as Elizabeth moved to face him. Working a comb through her damp hair, she eyed him warily. "I really don't think Dominos will deliver."

"Be fucking awesome if they did." He pulled his gaze from her bare legs and picked up his cigarettes. "Want one?"

"May as well. If I'm going to dip into the depths of depravity I may as well plunge in all the way." She winced, fingers moving through her hair to loosen a snarl. "Do you have any ideas?"

"About your plunge into depravity or food?"

"Food," she answered with a laugh. "Is there a restaurant in this place?"

He had no clue. When he'd been in the office to check in, his focus had only been on getting a room so she would relax. "Let me call and find out." It meant having to get up, but he rolled off the bed and moved to the table. Squinting at the laminated note pinned to the wall, he picked up the phone and dialed the office.

It wasn't the same woman he'd dealt with while checking in. This one was relatively nice, and said she would to open up the restaurant. There wouldn't be anything but whatever could be heated up. She was sure there was plenty of food. Getting through the snow at the door was his problem, though.

Hanging up, he rubbed his forehead. "Y'know. Even though this place is a complete dump, it almost feels like home. Get dressed."

"They're opening it? Just for us?"

"We get first dibs, then she'll call the other rooms." He rolled his neck from side to side, crossing the room to flip through his folded clothes.

"And how are we going to get out?" she asked. She was bent over to pull things from her suitcase. He suggested she try tunneling through and got one of her warm laughs. "Wear something that dries out quick. No need to sit in wet clothes while we eat."

"Expecting me to take a spill?" he challenged, rubbing his stomach.

"Unless you've got snowshoes in your suitcase…yes, I do."

"If I fall, I'm bringing you down with me."

Elizabeth straightened, a curious expression on her face. He wasn't sure if it was a smile or not. Tilting her head, she looked at him for a long moment. He had a feeling he'd conveyed more than he'd meant to. Especially when she continued to look at him as she pulled on a sweater. He didn't like the sudden sensation of vulnerability and remained still, watching her.

Was she starting to get a clue? Had he dropped enough hints? Should he drop more? Did he even want to? Would it take him laying it all out in plain English to get her to understand?

She crossed over to him, leaned onto the tips of her toes, and lightly brushed her lips over his. He sensed she was going to pull away and dropped his clothes, allowing one hand to gently catch her waist. Her lips remained against his, her hands coming to rest on his chest. Letting her have full control, he closed his eyes when she leaned into him.

"Just… Try to catch me when I fall," she whispered before pressing her lips more firmly to his.

He wanted to promise that he would. But he wanted her kiss more. No, he corrected himself, lifting his hand to cup her cheek, he needed her kiss. It was a balm; it was a banked furnace that would protect him from the cold outside. And he didn't want to scare her away by saying too much.

So he stayed as he was, thumb memorizing her cheek, palm resting on the curve of her waist. Her kiss was a caress and he sighed, abled to hear his own heartbeat. Her tongue made a quick appearance, causing him to grip her waist just a big tighter, then it disappeared. She gave a tiny sigh and dropped her head to his chest.

"Lizzie," he murmured, draping his arm around her. Cupping the back of her head, he could sense her anxiety returning. With a sigh he pressed a kiss into her hair. "Much as I'd love to stand right here and kiss you…"

"I know." Her fingers pressed into his bare skin then began to slide away. "You're starved." She turned her head, lips caressing his chest. "Get dressed."

* * *

The small restaurant was on the other side of the office. It took Dean a while before he managed to tamp down some of the snow so they could climb out. Then, hands secure on her arms, he helped her out, holding her steady as she immediately began to sink.

The snow was highest against the door and, up to her waist just two feet away, Elizabeth seriously considered turning back and asking him to bring her something. But she realized how spoiled she would sound. Shivering despite her layers, she tried to move forward.

She may have to turn back after all.

"Hold on," Dean said, hands funneling through the snow just in front of her. Taking hold of her wrists, he helped her through the drift. When they'd reached the parking lot, where the snow was just to her knees, he still held onto her.

"Oh," she breathed, looking around in awe.

A thick blanket of white had covered everything in sight. Parked cars were now oddly shaped mounds. Trees drooped from the weight of snow at the far end of the lot. The street was covered as well, but she could see evidence of vehicles having dared to traverse it.

The snow had only just stopped falling. As she looked around, she saw a few flakes sail from the sky. Each inhalation of the winter air caused her lungs to ache. A light wind blew, causing the laden branches of the trees to sway.

What struck her most was the quiet. She was so used to chaos, confusion, always moving, always thinking of what was next. Standing in snow up to her knees, with Dean holding her hand, though, she felt at peace. Calm. Almost serene.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered. She wanted to speak louder but hated the thought of breaking the peacefulness. A click broke the silence and she whirled to look at Dean, surprised to see he had his phone out. The sound came again and she watched his dimple appear as he grinned.

"You look…" He shrugged, pushing the phone into his pocket. Giving her hand a squeeze, he tilted his head in the direction of the restaurant. "Let's go."

Their trek was slow. Neither of them fell, though she was certain she would several times. Each time, he caught her. Just over three quarters of the way she moved closer to him, enjoying the comfort and security of his arm around her waist as they trudged through the snow.

The restaurant – it was really more of a diner – was warm. A bell above the door jangled to announce their arrival. Still holding onto Dean's arm, she stamped the snow from her boots, chilled to the bone, her cheeks raw from the cold.

She could smell coffee. At this point, she didn't care that it wasn't her preferred blend. She didn't care that her fingers were numb. Or that clumps of snow had found their way inside her boots. She wasn't bothered by the cold or the inconveniences. She felt almost giddy.

She felt happy.

Happy. She knew the feeling, had experienced it quite a bit in her life. In recent years, though, it had always come with a shadow of something else. Worry. Fear. Doubt.

Looking into Dean's eyes, she felt none of that. Just…happy.

A woman came from the kitchen, drying her hands on a dishtowel. "It stopped snowing, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean answered, tossing his coat over the back of a chair.

"Good. I've got some beef stew from yesterday's lunch heating up. I went ahead and put some biscuits in the oven. There's coffee, and I've got the stuff to make hot chocolate or tea if you want that. I'm going to start heating up some other stuff."

"Thanks a lot for doing this," Elizabeth said, shrugging out of her coat and approaching the counter.

"I can't let the guests starve. The name's Laurie, by the way."

"Elizabeth. And this is Dean."

"If you can't find anything, just holler. And you're not supposed to smoke in here, but I don't care if you do." She tossed the dishtowel over her shoulder and ducked behind the counter. Seconds later she came up with an old ashtray. "A few of the old-timers still like to have one with their coffee."

"Thanks, Laurie," Dean said, pulling the ashtray close as he took a seat at the counter.

"Help yourself to your drinks." She went back into the kitchen.

"I'll get your coffee," Elizabeth told Dean. Tucking the ends of her scarf in, she moved behind the counter. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she looked for spoons and napkins, aware of Dean watching her every move. When she placed a steaming cup in front of him, his fingers slipped over hers before she could pull away. The spoon clattered against the counter and he smiled.

"You didn't wash your hands, Miss," he teased, reaching for the sugar.

"Are you going to complain to my manager?"

"Not if you keep smiling at me like that." He lightly stroked her hand before letting her pull away. "And you forgot the cream."

"Sorry, sir. It's my first day."

The banter continued while she poured coffee for herself. Enjoying the lightness of the moment, she took the seat next to him.

He shook his head, holding his cup to his lips. "Now you're sitting down on the job. You really do suck at being a waitress."

"My feet hurt?" she offered, holding her cup in both hands. "Wait, no. I'm on a break."

"Do you get another?"

"As soon as the lunch rush is over." It was hard to drink while smiling – or maybe she just wasn't used to it – but she managed.

His hand dropped to her thigh. "How's about coming back to my room with me?"

"Are you going to show me your stamp collection?"

"Stamp—" His brow wrinkled and he began to laugh. "Stamps? Really?"

"It was the first thing that popped in my head." She shrugged, adding a little more sugar to her coffee. "What do you collect?"

"Nothing really. After I started going on the road with Seth and Roman I had a nice collection of hotel keys. Then I decided that was stupid and tossed them. I thought about shot glasses from different cities but…" He shrugged, hand squeezing her thigh. "Nah, nothing. Do you?"

"You know those cheesy tourist things in airports and hotels?"

"Those stupid little teddy bears and shit?"

"I don't get the teddy bears. I get the plastic snow globes. I used to collect the state spoons." She grinned when he shook his head in disbelief. "I got them all, so I went for something fun."

"Do you have the wood cutout of the country to hang the spoons on?"

She blushed, thinking of what John called her eyesore. "It's hanging up in the den."

"And I bet you put when and where you bought your cheap plastic snow globes on the bottom," he continued, his smirk turning to a grin when she groaned. "On a little shelf?"

"In my office," she muttered. How did he know her so well? "I know it's stupid but… I like little reminders of where I've been."

He nodded. "I get it. Really."

"So no stamp collection?" she asked sadly.

"No stamp collection. But you're still welcome to come back to my room." He set down his cup and leaned close.

She waited for his kiss. She knew it was coming from the way he glanced at her lips. Anticipating, she held her breath, unknowingly leaning in.

Dean's head dropped with a sigh when Laurie marched out of the kitchen carrying a tray. Elizabeth sighed with regret and, starting to sit back, froze when he pushed his lips to hers. She heard music as his mouth teased hers, realizing only when he broke the kiss that it was Laurie humming.

The woman smiled as she set down bowls of stew and a plate of biscuits. "You two sure are a cute couple."

Cheeks burning, Elizabeth helped herself to several napkins. Next to her, Dean chuckled.

"Yeah," he said, giving her thigh one more squeeze before letting go. "We are."

* * *

His lips were on her throat when his phone began to ring. Groaning, he kept his mouth next to her skin and leaned, hand groping on the nightstand. On his shoulders, her hands squeezed.

"Ignore it," she requested.

He dropped his hand, settled over her, smiling when her hand moved down his arm. Where their drawn-out kissing session was headed he had no idea, but he was determined to enjoy every moment. As he had since it had started. Vaguely aware of his phone beeping with a missed call, he turned all his attention to her.

And the way she kept holding onto him.

The way her foot rubbed against his leg.

The way she sighed and shivered whenever he nuzzled that spot right behind her ear.

His phone started ringing again and he fully ignored it, bringing his hand to her waist. Her shirt was already pushed up, and he held on, pulling her with him as he rolled onto his back.

Another beep. Her thighs slid against his, her hands slipped under his shirt. Lips brushing his, she gave his shirt a tug. He kept his hand at her waist, sitting up to remove the shirt, and took the opportunity to steal another kiss.

He decided he could spend the entire night kissing her.

Another beep, this one signaling a voicemail. She broke the kiss, and he felt her hands brush over his before her shirt fell away. He caught a glimpse of black lace then her lips were over his again.

He'd just unfastened her bra when the phone started up yet again. Groaning, he reluctantly pulled his hand from her, blindly reaching. Her head dropped to his shoulder, fingers drawing circles on his chest, and he kept his arm around her.

"I'll get rid of whoever it is," he promised, distracted by the goose bumps rising on her skin. He nudged the strap off one shoulder, lips trailing behind it until the bra fell to his abdomen.

"You could just turn it off," she murmured.

But he'd already turned his head. Holding the phone at an angle, he squinted. "I don't even recognize the number. 857—"

"That's Boston." He felt her tense, and all his hopes for their evening fell. Giving her the phone, he scooted back so he could lean against the headboard. She moved with him, frowning at the device. "It's John."

He'd known it was. A sinking feeling had settled in his gut when she'd recognized the area code. Moving to rub her thigh, he hesitated and placed his hand on her knee as she answered the call.

"Hello?" Her voice was filled with anxiety. Immediately she pulled the phone from her ear.

"Where the hell are you?!"

Fucking hell. Dean threw his arm over his face to muffle his groan.

"I got caught in the storm," she explained, pressing the phone to her ear and keeping it there. "…What? What difference does that make?"

Pulling his arm away, Dean frowned, missing her before all of her weight had slid off of him. She knelt next to him, shoulders tense, and he sighed. Reaching around her for his cigarettes, he could hear Cena's angry voice. He couldn't make out the words but it didn't matter. Lighting two, he held them in his mouth, eyeing her carefully while she spoke. When she paused he handed one over, letting his hand trail the length of her arm.

"I called you at least six times, John," she said, lifting the cigarette to her lips. It wasn't until she'd exhaled the smoke that she looked down at her hand in confusion. "They went directly to voicemail."

That angry voice again. Dean shook his head, wondering if she would bring up the phone that had broken her heart.

"Oh. You were asleep." Her voice was flat and he saw the hurt in her eyes. She turned her back to him, the sinking feeling burrowing deeper when her shoulders rounded forward with defeat. "I see."

Impulsively he sat up, lips connecting with her bare shoulder. He felt her sudden intake of breath and, slipping his arm around her, moved his kisses to her neck. She rewarded the gesture with the tiniest of sighs. Encouraged, he plucked the cigarette from her fingers and dropped it into the ashtray, his own following shortly. He kept his lips on her neck, fingers brushing her hair out of his way.

He knew she wouldn't bring up Melissa when she dropped her head forward. "I know. I'm sorry. I didn't… Yes. I insisted on finding a place to stay, John." She paused, the hand not on the phone resting on the arm at her waist. As her silence continued, she drummed her fingers, body still taut with anxiety.

Dean breathed in her scent. Her fingernails dug into his forearm and he tightened his grip on her waist. Flicking his tongue over her earlobe, he then dragged his teeth over it, smirking when she squirmed.

"Right," she said through clenched teeth. "I'm staying in a hotel with Ambrose. It was either that or sleep in the car. But you know what? He's been a perfect gentleman."

Well, not perfect, he thought, pressing his lips to her neck again.

John's voice, angry and muffled. "Please don't be angry," she whispered. "I did what I thought was best. John… Please—"

She was crying. What had he said? All thoughts of distraction fled. Straightening, he let his lips pass over her cheek before clearing his throat. "You alright?" he asked, making damned sure he spoke loudly enough for John to hear him.

"Of course he's in the room. You called me on his phone—" She cut off with a sniffle. Looking back at him, shook her head then looked away. "I'm fine."

"Want me to talk to him?" he offered. "To let him know you're safe?"

She didn't protest when he reached for the phone. As soon as it was out of her grasp she snatched up her shirt and yanked it over her head.

Dean wet his lips. Making sure to keep his voice calm, he spoke a greeting into the phone. Her fingers tapped his arm and he loosened his grip, eyes never leaving her while she slid off the bed. Arms folded across her chest, she crossed to the window.

"What's going on?" John Cena asked. Dean's dislike grew immeasurably. The guy sounded too cheerful. Too cocky.

"Oh, just snowed in. Look, she's okay." Did John know they'd driven together? He wasn't sure so he kept quiet about the nerve-wracking drive during the storm. "It's really bad out there. But we've got warm rooms and food."

"Yeah. Thanks for keeping an eye on her. I didn't mean to snap at her but I'm just worried."

Sure. Showing concern always ended with a woman crying. "Right."

"You know how women are. They get an idea in their heads and have to follow it through. I knew I should have put my foot down about her driving. She could have ended up in a damn tree."

It was on the tip of his tongue to announce that she very nearly had, but he tamped it down and swung his feet to the floor. "Yeah," he muttered. "You're telling me."

"What happened to her phone?"

Rubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers, Dean struggled to recall what she'd told Carl. "I don't even know. I think it took a nosedive outside."

John laughed. "She's always been clumsy."

Dean pressed his lips together and remained silent.

"Is it alright if I call you to check on her in the morning?" His tone suggested he would anyway, and Dean fisted his hand in the sheet.

"Sure." He promised himself he would turn his fucking phone off and hide it in his suitcase.

"I'll text so you can get the phone to her. She's in the next room?"

"Yeah." He faked a loud yawn.

"I won't keep you any longer. Thanks again. I'll call in the morning."

"Did you want to talk to her again?" Please say no, please say no.

"Nah. Tell her I'll talk to her first thing."

Dean lowered the phone, one brow lifting as the length of the call flashed on the screen. Sorely tempted to send it flying across the room, he instead turned off the ringer and threw it into his suitcase.

"I'm stupid," she whispered once his arm slid around her shoulders.

"No you're not."

"I should have asked him to arrange a flight. Or gotten a room near the airport and waited out the storm there."

"I'm glad you didn't."

"So am I."

"Come back to bed," he murmured when she turned and pressed her forehead to his chest. Stroking her hair, he sighed, hating how the sound of her crying created an ache in his chest.

"I'm not in the mood to—"

"Just come lay down."

He guided her to the bed and helped her into it. As she settled in he moved the remote and his shirt to the floor, straightening out the covers. After making sure his cigarette was out in the ashtray, he joined her, hoping she wouldn't push him away.

Thanking Cena a tiny bit when she snuggled close, he reached to turn out the lamp.

"I'm not tired," she murmured in the darkness.

"TV?" he suggested, thumb finding her cheek to brush away her tears.

"No."

"Book?"

"No."

"Me?"

The beat of silence stretched into forever. Then her lips tentatively pressed to his chin. "Yes."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Short chapter. Thank you to xSamiliciousx, xKimberly12x, Punksbaby, Punkedbyambrose, ChelleLew, ThatGirl54, Icec, MJ, JoMode, benova13, and Guest (x2) for the AWESOME reviews. Hope you enjoy! :)**

Chapter Seven

Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to waking up alone. Even the times he fell asleep with a woman next to him, they were always gone by morning. He was used to being able to stretch, to take up the whole bed if he wanted. He rarely did, but knowing he could was important to him.

When he awoke for the second morning in a row with a warm body cuddled close, though, he sleepily wondered why he'd thought sleeping alone was such a big deal. It was nice, feeling softness in his arms instead of having them stretched across cold sheets. There was something to be said for having hair in his face and a breast in his palm.

The only thing he didn't like was that they were both still dressed. He vaguely recalled pulling away the night before to take off his shirt, but she still wore sweatpants and a t-shirt. And, he realized, feeling her feet against his, socks. She'd worn socks to bed. That made him smile.

As carefully as possible he began sliding his arm from beneath her, pausing each time she made the smallest sound. Just when it was almost free she wriggled. The hand on her breast was caught and, with a peaceful sigh, she hugged his arm to her chest and pushed her head more firmly into the pillow.

Arm free, he propped up on his elbow to watch her sleep. She'd roused him the day before, and he was grateful for the chance to see her while she was completely unaware. Cautiously he brushed the hair from her face, letting the strands slide through his fingers.

She looked peaceful. The wrinkle in her forehead, which he'd noticed many times since meeting her, was gone. It had made an appearance during and after her conversation with John. Her mouth was relaxed, slightly parted. He could just feel her breath on his fingers. Her anxiety the night before had obviously left her while she slept, and he wondered what her dreams had been.

He shifted his arm, watched his fingers twine with hers. He was aware of every one of the calluses on his hand when her softer skin was next to them. But she held on just the same, mouth closing and tilting into a small smile.

"I wish I could have found you first," he whispered. "I wish you were mine."

It scared him, his desire for her. For a long time he'd been sure that one good fuck would get her out of his system. But now… He knew her. She was more than the pretty woman with the sweet smile and nice tits. More than the chick with the stick up her ass. She was so much more.

He didn't do relationships. But she made him wish he did.

* * *

Elizabeth placed the last of her things into her suitcase with a heavy heart. Rundown as it was, she knew she would miss the motel. Her gaze moved to the window. The curtains were open and she could see traffic moving effortlessly on the street. And Dean, who'd gone out to move the car and get all the snow off before they left.

The snow was melting fast. Temperatures had risen the day before and stayed above freezing overnight. Already she had noticed the parking lot getting empty. The forecast call for seasonable temperatures over the next few days. This meant there was no reason for them to stay.

No matter how much she wanted to.

Looking to Dean's suitcase as she zipped her own, she felt the hint of a smile. He still hadn't packed; had mentioned he'd throw his stuff together at the last minute. Placing her bag and purse next to the door, she rubbed the back of her neck then turned to check every drawer and cranny.

As she did, her thoughts traveled to the previous day. They'd slept in and had watched TV for most of the morning, moving only when Laurie had called the room to offer some lunch. The afternoon had been spent trying to put her phone back together. She was almost glad that they'd been unable to, and it had been the first thing to go into the trash bag he'd gotten from the office. An early dinner, then more TV in bed…

She smiled, stooping to gather Dean's clothes. Truth be told, more time had been spent examining him than watching the movie. She had enjoyed it more than she would have thought. Again there had been no pressure. No expectations. If he was upset that she wasn't quite ready to do more, he hadn't let on. She liked to think that he was genuine when he said it didn't matter. And he certainly seemed keen on examining her.

And now it was all about to end.

Why did she feel like crying? It wasn't as though she'd never see him again. She'd see him all the time.

Not in the same way, she thought sadly, dragging his suitcase onto the bed so she could pack his things. She tried not to let her fingers linger over his t-shirts too long, tried not to think how soft and warm they were when on his body. But the thought came, bringing with it the memory of his smirk when she'd nicked his shirt to wear the night before.

He came in just as she was closing his suitcase. Rubbing his bare hands together, he kicked the door shut. "I forgot my damn gloves," he muttered, blowing on his red fingers.

His hat and coat, too, but she didn't point out that fact. Sliding the suitcase to the floor, she turned to look at him. "I think I got everything."

"You didn't have to pack my shit, Lizzie."

"I wanted to." It was such a small thing to do, really. But now she realized that they'd be on the road that much quicker. To the nearest airport. He'd be heading out to the house shows, and she home. Stepping into the bathroom, hoping her sadness didn't show, she double-checked to make sure she'd gotten all of her toiletries. Turning on the hot water in the sink, she waited until it was steaming before calling to him.

He reached around her, groaning when he pushed his hands under the stream of water. "Fuck," he muttered. He held them there, still rubbing, body fully pressed to hers.

Trapped but willing, she wriggled to keep the edge of the sink from digging too sharply into her hips. Her eyes met his in the mirror and she looked on as he dropped his head to kiss her neck. His name came out in a whisper.

Before she realized what was happening the water had been turned off and he was turning her towards him. Their lips met, a heated hand cupping her cheek. Her arms went around him, holding on while her lips parted for his tongue. The only thought running through her mind was that she didn't want it to end.

He held her against the sink, hands everywhere, and she knew in her heart that he wanted it to go on, too.

"Bed," she whispered, grasping at his shirt. "Take me to bed."

"Y'sure?" His lips were on her neck. His tongue flickering over that spot he'd discovered.

"Yes."

He hauled her even closer, boosting her up against him with one hand. Her legs parted, tucked around him, and she sought another kiss as he carried her to the bed. She was placed down with care, his teeth teasing her tongue. Heart racing, she fumbled between their bodies, tongue meeting his as he covered her. The zipper of his hoodie finally came free and, frantic now, she pushed it off him, trying her best to kick off her boots.

"Hey, hey," he murmured, raising his head. "Eager much?"

"Yes," she answered, boldly pulling on his shirt.

"Relax," he whispered, sitting up on his knees.

Greedily she watched as he removed his shirt. She pushed herself onto her elbows, fingers curling in the rumpled sheets. Was it her imagination or was he moving interminably slow? He was already leaning forward, his hands already braced on either side of her head, his lips against hers. Imagination, she decided with a smile.

Next time she'd ask him to do it slow.

His teeth scraped her neck and she gasped, arching.

Had she ever wanted something so badly?

"No," she whined, sagging against the mattress as the phone on the nightstand jangled loudly.

"Fuck," he growled. "I asked what's-her-face to call so we wouldn't leave too late."

She wanted to cry. The phone continued to ring, each jarring sound dumping ice water into her veins. Above her, Dean let the conflict show on his face. With a growl of annoyance he pushed away and snatched up the receiver.

Elizabeth worked to straighten her clothes, biting her lip to keep from pouting like a spoiled child. Her sweater was pushed up, the long-sleeved t-shirt beneath it untucked. Finding that her jeans were unbuttoned she struggled to recall when that had happened. She couldn't, though, and put everything in its proper place before sitting up, reaching to gather her boots from the floor.

"Lizzie."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not."

"Maybe it's a sign." She'd go with that. But she mentally kicked herself, thinking of the long hours that she could have used. The moments when she could have made a move. Asked for more.

"Yeah. Maybe." He picked up his discarded hoodie and shook it out.

There was a depressing conclusiveness to the sound of the hoodie's zipper. As though it signaled the end. It was followed by the putting on of his coat. The mumble that he would put their things in the car and start it up. She followed him out, not wanting to be alone in the room. Even if it was for just a couple minutes, she knew she'd cry.

And she was so sick of crying.

* * *

"This isn't going to be awkward, is it?"

Dean sighed, moving his gaze from the rental car receipt to look at her. In his opinion, it was already awkard. It had been since they'd arrived at the airport. It was second nature to touch her now, and several times since entering the terminal he'd been forced to pretend he was stretching or about to scratch his head. Usually it wouldn't bother him. But he knew that cameras were everywhere. So were fans. True, some wouldn't approach, but they always had their phones at the ready. They were no longer snowed in at a motel with no prying eyes. And the last thing he wanted was a photo of them spreading around online. He didn't give a damn personally, but she was worth more.

"It already is, isn't it?" Elizabeth frowned and looked down at her coffee.

"Yeah, it is." He folded the receipt and shoved it into his pocket. "I'm sorry."

"I…" Her words were overtaken by a cool voice announcing the next flight over the speakers. She waited, frown deepening, and met his eyes again. "That's me."

"Yeah." She'd checked in and passed the security checkoints. He could have said goodbye already and gone through the same rigamarol for his own flight later on. But he hadn't. One last cup of coffee, he'd suggested, loathe to see her go. And now she was leaving.

They stood at the same time. "I'll see you Monday, I guess—"

"I'll walk with you." He slipped her carryon from her shoulder, letting his hand remain for a bit longer than necessary.

The walk was over too soon. Dean was sure they'd taken a wrong turn – he even looked back at the sign to make sure. This was it? So soon? He looked around the near-empty waiting room. The last call was being announced. She took her carryon, rummaged in her purse, and when their eyes met he could see she didn't want to go.

He opened his mouth to give her his number, to request that she call to let him know she'd landed safely. Remembering that she'd already written down his number and promised to call or text once she got a new phone, he pressed his lips together.

"It's not goodbye," she said softly.

And yet it was. Sure, he'd see her in a couple days. Sure, they'd talk. Hell, she might even surprise him with a text or two. But it wouldn't be the same. It would never be the same.

"I better go. I'll call you." Her gaze swept the room and then she was stepping forward.

He felt something within him start to crumble when her lips met his. Catching her by the shoulders, he no longer cared about possible fans or cameras. He held her to him, doing his best to keep the kiss gentle. A soft hand rested briefly on his cheek and he sighed, forcing his hands to release her.

The warmth of her lips and hand stayed after she'd walked away.

It stuck around while he boarded his own flight an hour later.

It was there when he arrived at the arena for that night's house show.

It stayed into the night, as city lights gave way to nothingness on the long ride to the next city.

And though the warmth lingered, it wasn't as strong once he realized that his phone had remained dark and silent.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Punksbaby, Guest, ThatGirl54, Guest, xSamiliciousx, Athena MacG, ChelleLew, xKimberly12x, JoMode, Guest, PunkedbyAmbrose, and kcstacielynn are all fabulous people who deserve homebaked cookies. Rock on. :)**

Chapter Eight

The breakfast nook had always been one of Elizabeth's favorite spots. She loved to linger over a meal there. She enjoyed the warmth of the early morning sun pouring through the windows while she drank her coffee. She liked watching the city wake up as she stayed cozy in her bathrobe.

But now there was no sunlight. She wasn't even sure what the weather outside was; she hadn't opened any of the blinds or curtains since coming down. The usually sunny and warm kitchen seemed cold and dark. Her coffee tasted wrong. The padded bench felt hard.

Across from her, John nursed his own coffee. He looked tired, even though he'd gone to bed before she had. He'd taken the guest room downstairs before she'd requested that he do so. She had tried to sleep in their bed but, not trusting the fresh sheets, she'd slept in one of the upstairs guest rooms.

For a couple that was rarely home, they had many guest rooms. For a couple that hardly ever entertained, there were many social gathering areas within the house.

Why did they need such a big house?

Kids, she supposed, picking at the pastry he'd brought from the bakery. He'd told her he wanted a few kids. Later, though. When he wasn't so busy.

Taking a deep breath, she picked up her coffee for a sip. The silence stretched on, until she wanted to scream. She lowered her cup. "How long?"

It was the first thing she'd said to him since entering the house. It was the first time she'd spoken at all.

He rubbed his face. "A few months."

At least he wasn't playing stupid. Or trying to convince her nothing was happening. "A few months what? Fucking?"

John winced. "Yeah. And…" He cleared his throat and pushed away his own pastry. "There was some flirting and stuff for a while before that."

"Stuff," she repeated.

"Do you really want to know everything?"

"No. I want to know why."

"Why?" He rolled his eyes. "You should already know."

"I'm sorry. I'm stupid, remember? Spell it out for your idiotic wife." Her thumb moved to twist her wedding rings but met only bare skin. They were still in her suitcase.

"You're not the easiest woman to be intimate with, Elizabeth. You know that."

"So because you can't make me orgasm like a porn star you had to go fuck some kid?" She scoffed, pushing her hands into her hair.

"She's not a kid. And it was more than that—"

"What, she worships you? Makes you feel like Superman?" She squeezed her eyes shut. "Do you love her?"

"I'd rather not label it."

"Fine. Have fun with her." She slid off the bench. "I want a divorce."

His laugh followed her across the room. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

She'd had a feeling he would say that. Turning, she steeled herself upon finding he was right there. "Why?"

Finger swept over her cheek. A muscle in his jaw twitched as his hand wrapped around her throat. His grip was as loose as possible but she didn't dare move even an inch.

She thought of the phone she'd gotten on her way home. It was still in its box, in her purse. For some reason she hadn't wanted him to know she had one yet. And even long after she'd known he was asleep she hadn't been able to take it out. She thought of the slip of paper with a number scrawled across, of the man she'd promised to contact.

"No divorce, Elizabeth. I love you too much to let you go over something silly like this."

His kiss was gentle, coaxing. His hand remained at her throat for several moments. Unable to push away, she clenched her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. When his hand slipped down to part her robe, she recalled a gentler touch.

"You love me, too," he murmured.

"Yes," she admitted. Despite everything, she did love him. He was all she'd known. But why did it feel so wrong now? Why didn't his touch warm her as it used to?

Why did she feel as though she were cheating _with_ her husband? Why hadn't she felt she was cheating _on_ him a couple days before?

"No," she protested, backing away and pulling her robe together. "I can't."

John sighed. "What's wrong now?"

"You were… For all I know you had sex with her yesterday. I…" She shook her head, revolted by the fact he saw nothing wrong with his actions. "I can't, John."

"What do you want me to say? That I haven't fucked her this week? Or do you want me to tell you the truth?"

"What is the truth?" she asked, cinching the belt of her robe tightly.

"I've been with her a few times. Monday night on the bus. Most of Tuesday, when I wasn't doing work—"

"I don't want to know," she cried.

"You asked for the truth," he reminded her. His voice was cold, cruel, and his hands caught her arms, forcing her to stand in front of him. "Do you want to know it all? How I can make her cum twice with just a finger? Or how she bucks and screams when I hit it from behind?"

"You're disgusting." Wrenching away, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Too aghast to cry, she rushed from the kitchen, aware of him following her slowly.

"Elizabeth, what are you doing?" he asked from the bedroom doorway moments later.

"I'm leaving," she managed, throwing items haphazardly into her suitcase.

"No, you're not."

"I am," she insisted. As she spoke she knew it to be true. He wouldn't stop her. Not this time. And even if it wasn't for good, she had to get away. Away from the bed that Melissa had probably bucked and screamed in. Away from the memories.

"Where?" he asked with a sigh.

"Tampa." The house they had there wasn't as cloying as this one. "Unless you fucked her there, too."

"No. I haven't."

She wondered if there was just enough decency left in him to have kept that place sacred. Or if he just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Either way, she believed him. And if the few memories there became too much she would find somewhere else.

"Will you get a new phone before you leave?" He looked almost contrite. Rubbing the back of his neck when she looked over to him, he shrugged one shoulder. "Just so I can check on you?"

"I'll text you when I get one."

He left her alone after that – after getting another promise that she would text him – and she packed in relative peace. She heard him go downstairs and then, as she held her breath, the front door opened and closed. A sigh of relief passed her lips and she moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside just in time to see his car pull out of the drive.

It was raining. She didn't mind, though, and opened the curtains so she could see the weather that matched her mood. Several moments passed before she realized he hadn't said he loved her. Or goodbye. Fighting tears, she grabbed another suitcase and loaded it with as much as she could.

She felt as though she were moving in a foggy dream. Nothing seemed right. The usually warm and comfortable bedroom was suddenly cold and uninviting. The framed photo on the dresser, the one of them on their wedding day, mocked her with its cheery smiles and tight embrace. The untouched bedding ridiculed her for being afraid. The soft carpeting beneath her bare feet felt rough and unforgiving.

Closing her eyes as she crammed toiletries into the suitcase, she longed for the small hotel room. She wished she were still there, warm in his arms, trying not to laugh at the couple in the next room that always argued or had sex. She craved his gentle touch, his murmured words of assurance. Turning back time was impossible but she desired it more than anything.

The contents of her purse rolled across the bed and she pawed through them, tossing aside receipts and random business cards until she found the scrap of paper. It took her a moment to start up her new phone. She ignored the influx of messages, checking the time and hoping he wasn't busy.

His voice, husky with sleep, made her smile. "Yeah?"

"It's me." Her voice sounded odd and she cleared her throat. "Lizzie."

"What time is it?" he grumbled.

"Nearly eight here…" She had no idea where he was. And she felt stupid for not texting him first. "Go back to sleep, I'll—"

"Nah, I'm up now." She heard the soft chink of a lighter, then his slow exhalation. "You alright?"

"Yes… No… I don't know." Did she dare let on, even the tiniest bit, how just hearing his voice made her feel better? "I'm going to Tampa for a couple days."

"What's in Tampa?"

"The other house. Well, one of the other houses."

He exhaled again. "How many goddamn houses do y'all need?"

"I… I don't know." She began throwing things back into her purse. "I just wanted to check in. You can go back to sleep."

"When's your flight?"

She had no idea. She hadn't thought that far ahead. She told him so as she got clothes to wear. Listening to him exhale after she spoke, she felt certifiably insane for her sudden craving for a cigarette.

Or maybe she just craved him.

"Come to Vegas," he said after a moment.

"What's in Vegas?"

"Me."

* * *

Dean didn't expect her to show. He hadn't spoken to her since she'd called him that morning. One text had come from her saying she had a three hour wait before her flight. He thought of trying to call or text her a few times but refrained, telling himself that she would contact him when she could. As he tried to get some more sleep the doubts crept in. What if she'd changed her mind? What if John had changed it for her?

He hated himself for doubting her, though, especially when she called from the cab for his address. After ending the call he waited at the window, watching for her. She arrived just as clouds covered the sun.

The door was open by the time she made it upstairs. He supposed he could have gone down and helped her with her stuff, but there had been a mad dash, an attempt to straighten up, so all he could do was take the heavier suitcase and set it just inside the door.

"Hey," he greeted, reaching to take her jacket. But once his hands were on her shoulders he couldn't let go. Her purse fell to the floor, her hands caught his shirt. His lips met hers and all his doubts fled.

"Why aren't you on in Kentucky?" she mumbled when his lips moved to her throat.

Pushing her back against the door, he nipped at her skin, one hand fumbling with the locks and security chain. "Because," he grunted, grabbing her hips and yanking her up to his height, "I banged up my knee last night."

"Are you okay?" she pulled and tugged at his t-shirt.

"Never better," he promised. He reluctantly dropped his hands from her, letting her remove his shirt. Sighing as her soft fingers danced over his chest, he pressed her tighter to the door. Urgent now, he worked the buttons of her shirt, groaning in frustration when one refused to cooperate.

"Dean," she whispered, legs tightening around his waist. She pushed his hand away and seconds later the shirt was sliding down her shoulders.

"We're gonna do this right," he decided, offering a quick kiss before stepping away from the door. He squeal of surprise filled the room and he grinned, making sure her shirt and jacket hit the floor as he carried her into the bedroom.

"I didn't come here just for sex."

The words almost gave him pause, but she had purred them in his ear. The fact that she was squirming against him and tasting his earlobe propelled him. He dropped her on the bed, smirking when he saw her fall back. "But you don't want me to stop."

"Fuck no." Her shoes landed with a clatter and he paused in the unbuttoning of jeans, mesmerized by the wriggle of her hips as she pushed down her pants.

"Good. 'Cause I ain't."

She tossed her pants aside. Her panties were next, a small scrap of green lace that floated through the air. Sitting up, she removed her bra quickly. Her hand brushed over his, then took over and unbuttoned his jeans. Her lips less than an inch from his, she slipped one hand inside. "Your phone?"

"On vibrate in the living room," he whispered, catching her bottom lip between his. Suckling gently, he put a hand over hers, urging it to move just a little faster. She gave a little moan. "Yours?"

"Pretty sure I turned it off in the cab." Her hand moved, grabbing his jeans and pushing them down.

"I knew you were smart," he muttered, dropping his lips to her shoulder. Breathing in her scent, he pushed a hand through her hair and grabbed a handful, pulling her head gently to the side so he could explore the curve of her neck.

She hadn't come for sex, but she responded to his touch in a way that made him think sex had been on her mind. He heard every sigh, every moan; he felt every shiver. Her hands were on him, touching everyplace she could reach, and the burn of desire grew prominent. Palming her breasts, he nuzzled the spot behind her ear. He came very close to throwing her down so he could just fuck her into oblivion. Then one hand slid up to lie against his cheek, and she whispered his name.

Easing her back on the bed, he followed, refusing to take his lips from her. Smooth legs tangled with his, keeping him close. Propping up on one elbow, he tilted his head to place a kiss on the inside of her wrist. A random decision, but when her eyes sparked and her lips pulled into a sweet smile he did it again.

He lost track of time while exploring her body. He marveled over each new discovery. Kissing the freckles on her shoulder made her giggle. The light touch of his thumb to her hip brought out a pleased hum. Rolling his tongue over her nipples caused her back to arch and her nails to dig into his shoulders.

Her body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat by the time his mouth had made its way to her thighs. The room seemed to crackle with electricity; he glanced up to find her watching him. Smirking, he nudged her legs further apart.

She screamed as soon as his tongue found her clit. He tightened his grip on her thighs, surprised at their strength. Forcing his tongue to move slowly, he teased her clit until she began to writhe. Just when he was sure she was about to cum, he lifted his head, watching the panicked expression as he replaced his tongue with his thumb. The panic washed away and he licked his lips.

Later, he'd eat her until she came over and over. He'd make damn sure she got caught up on all the missed orgasms.

Now, though, he needed to be inside her. He remembered vividly how she had clenched and shuddered around his fingers and needed that. He needed her to cum around him, to experience the screams in his ear, the nails down his back.

* * *

Elizabeth wanted to sob when Dean moved away. Covering her face with shaking hands, she drew in several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her overheated body. She barely felt him move, but heard his grunt. Opening her mouth to ask what was wrong, she instead gasped at the feel of his mouth on her throat.

"Did you really think I was gonna leave you high and dry?" he asked, lightly patting her thighs. Almost by instinct they hooked around his waist.

"You bastard," she groaned, though it gave way to a whimper when he reached between their bodies. Arching at the feel of his cock probing her entrance, she grabbed his shoulders.

"Question," he muttered, teeth grazing her neck as he held himself still.

"I'm on the Pill," she promised.

"Good to know, but that wasn't my question." With painstaking slowness he leaned back to look at her. "Not even a question, really. More of a warning, if you will."

Arching a brow, she flattened her palms against his chest. "Do you have some weird kink?"

"What? No," he assured, making a face. "Hell of a time to bring this up, but I tend to be a bit rough."

She relaxed. Having feared the worst, she now smiled and leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "I'm not going to break, Dean," she murmured.

"Just don't freak out on me," he requested. "I've waited so long to have you," he added softly, one hand tangling in her hair. "I'm not gonna be able to stop."

"I don't want you to," she whispered, forehead dropping to his shoulder. The hand on her thigh flexed and before she could brace herself he was inside her. She gave a shuddering cry, tried to grab hold of him. The tiniest of moans vibrated in his throat; she felt his body go tense as he held still.

"Fuck," he growled, pulling on her hair until she lifted her head. His eyes, blazing, searched hers. She gave a shaky nod, finally managing to grasp his biceps.

Her lips parted to speak but he covered them, his tongue stroking hers. She held on, her craving for him becoming feverish. Crying out in relief when he began to move, she tightened her legs around his waist.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, a soft echo to his relentless thrusts. Her body became sticky with their sweat. His hands were everywhere. Caressing, grasping, tugging. Each time she thought her body could twist no more he coaxed her further. Nails dragged down her sides, then down her spine.

The orgasm he'd earlier denied hit her by surprise. She was certain she saw flashes of light flickering in the window right before her head fell back. Pure ecstasy caught her, clenching and wringing out a scream. Strong hands caught hers and held on. Pinned to the bed, all she could do was cry out as her body tried to writhe.

He continued to hold her down, his hot breath fanning over her throat. His grip on her hands tightened, and in the midst of her high she became aware of him throbbing within her. Growling her name, he pushed her further into the mattress, biting down on her shoulder. The stinging pain only intensified her pleasure.

Dean stayed over her, her leg trapped between them, her upper body twisted. Struggling to draw a clear breath she turned her head, moaning at the feel of his lips brushing her cheek. Able to feel the pound of his heart against her arm, she managed to pull one hand free of his and reach to hold onto him.

Thunder rumbled, closer now, and she lazily looked to the window to see the dark clouds that covered the sky. Whining when he began to slide away, she dropped her leg. She shifted around, guided by the gentle hand on her waist, and met his gaze in the growing darkness.

He kissed her. Once, twice, three times. With a soft groan he rolled onto his back. Elizabeth sighed at the loss of his warmth, only to smile when he quickly drew her over him. Sprawled atop him, a million things she wanted to say starting to burn in her mind, she dropped a kiss on his chest.

His arms, heavy and warm and reminding her of their nights in the motel, came around her. Electing to stay silent, she tilted her head back for his kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Apologies for what some may deem a delay. Thank you again to everyone who's reading, following, and reviewing! Enjoy. :)**

Chapter Nine

Nursing a beer, Dean kept his eyes on Elizabeth as she moved around his small kitchen. She'd surprised him with her burst of energy after their hours in bed. He would have preferred to just fall asleep, but she had mentioned skipping lunch and he'd felt guilty. The guilt had somehow segued into her offering to fix a late dinner. He still wasn't sure how that had happened, but he was enjoying the show.

Because she obviously didn't know her way around a kitchen.

He had no clue as to why that amused him. He stayed in the living room on the couch, watching her open drawers and cabinets, trying not to chuckle when she muttered curses. A pot clattered on the stove, she grumbled, and he quickly took a sip of his beer, looking to the TV to hide his mirth.

"Do you live on eggs, protein shakes, and beer?" she called.

"There's ribs from last night." At least, he was pretty sure some were left. He remembered putting the container back in the fridge. Maybe he'd eaten them all. "And water."

"No vegetables?"

"Maybe in the freezer? I know I've got an onion in the fridge" he offered. More muttered curses. "We can call out for something—"

"I'll just fix an omelet. There's a little bit of cheese."

"I've got bread, too."

"Omelets and toast, then."

He looked over just in time to catch her glancing around the kitchen, lost. "Toaster oven," he pointed out. It was right there next to the coffeemaker but he pointed to it just in case.

"No toaster?"

"The toaster oven toasts. And roasts and bakes. Why bother with both?" Pleased with his logic, he glanced out the window to see if the second round of storms had arrived yet.

"You have a point."

"I can be pretty fucking brilliant now and then. Do you want some help?"

She muttered under her breath as she pulled things out of the fridge. Unable to resist, he got to his feet and went to her, finishing his beer before slipping an arm around her waist.

"It'll kill you to admit you suck at this, won't it?" he asked with a chuckle.

"No, it won't kill me." She sighed, leaning against him, hand resting on his arm. "I really am a terrible cook, Dean."

"Then why fucking bother?" He pressed a kiss to her neck then guided her to one of the stools at the counter. "Sit. I'll throw something together."

Smiling, she sat, chin propped in one hand. "Are you a short order cook?"

With a shake of his head, he began gathering ingredients. "Just don't ask for eggs over-easy. I always bust the yolk."

He felt her eyes follow him as he moved around. It would have unnerved him, had he not been guilty of watching her earlier. Grabbing two beers from the fridge once he'd put the frozen vegetables on to steam, he carried one to her and leaned against the counter.

He lit two cigarettes, smirking when she took one for herself without waiting for it to be offered. "You still plunging into depravity?"

Lips that he knew – that had memorized his body – that he wanted on him again – pursed around the cigarette. The tip glowed, then she tilted her head, smoke streaming from those lips. "I have sex bruises, what do you think?"

"Ain't my fault you kept trying to get away." He refused to get turned on watching her smoke. He wasn't a fucking kid with his first girl. Then he remembered enjoying – a little too much – the way she'd wriggled into one of his t-shirts. His gaze dropped to her chest and he licked his lips. Okay, he was fine with behaving like a horny teenager again. Eyes returning to her lips, he pictured them wrapped around his—

"Maybe you should just tie me down next time."

It was an off-hand comment but it still caused him to swallow wrong. He covered up by turning to check on the food, clattering an empty pan to mask his coughing. Once he'd recovered, he returned to the counter. "Are you into that?"

"I honestly don't know." She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and finally picked up her beer, taking a tiny sip. "I've never… Well, he's really…"

"Plain," Dean finished. And, refusing to let her bastard of a husband ruin their time together, he tossed his cigarette into the ashtray. Bracing his hands against the counter, he leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. "I'd start with just tying your wrists together."

The bottle thumped down. "Dean…"

"Behind your back," he went on. Moving around so he was behind her, he gently caught her arms and held her wrists against the small of her back. He glanced down, saw her fingers clawing the air. Her head tilted as soon as his lips touched her neck. "Then I'd bend you over the side of the bed." His other hand reached around, cupping one bare knee. It took a little urging but her knees soon parted. Grasping fingers scratched at his wrist so he shifted, letting her clutch the front of his shorts. His hand trailed up her thigh then cupped her, a groan pulling from his throat when he felt her heat. "And I'd work that sweet little clit until you were just about to cum…"

She clutched him, wriggling on the stool. His name, barely a whisper, came out as he worked his hips against her hand.

"I'd fuck you so good," he promised, nudging her panties aside so he could feel how wet she was. One finger slipped inside. "Then I'd fuck you again. And again…"

"And?" she whined, fingers squeezing.

"And…" He nuzzled her neck briefly and pulled away. Sucking his finger, he stepped back. "And I need to finish the food."

She cursed, drank more beer, and cursed again when he laughed.

They ate in the living room, a cheesy 80's comedy on TV. The second round of storms hit just as she carried their dishes into the kitchen. He turned off the movie then leaned to turn off the lights before stretching his sore leg out on the couch to the distant rumble of thunder. It occurred to him, as he listened to the sounds of her washing up, that everything felt normal.

Relaxing after dinner, his woman doing the dishes. Full and satisfied and getting sleepy. Knowing that soon he'd be getting into bed with her. Whether or not they had sex before going to sleep, he knew he'd go to sleep reasonably happy.

Only… She wasn't his woman. No matter how much he wanted her to be, she couldn't be his. The sense of happiness disappeared. He was still full, still getting sleepy, but the satisfaction was ebbing. An annoying, nagging feeling crept into the pit of his stomach. He closed his eyes, trying to tamp it down. A nitpicking, whiny voice in the back of his mind, one he hadn't heard in a long time, began to whisper.

Then Elizabeth there, leaning over him. Cool, damp fingers brushed down his arm as she joined him. There was no awkwardness as he made room for her, nor in the way she settled so her head rested on his chest. Arms going around her, he looked out the window to see the distant flickering of lightening.

"You ready for bed?" he asked softly.

"Mm-hmm." She scooted up, brushed her lips over his. In the glow of the light from the kitchen he could see her smile. "But can we watch the storm first?"

"Sure," he chuckled, helping her shift around so she could see out the window. Instead of watching the approaching storm he watched her hands slide over his arms. Kissing the top of her head, he closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the moment.

The nitpicking voice went silent.

* * *

On Monday, Elizabeth arrived at the arena alone. Sitting in the car for several minutes, she absently chewed on her thumbnail. Her drive from the airport had been lonely and even though it had been less than thirty minutes she'd regretted her decision to drive separately from Dean. At the time her reasoning had been that there was no reason to inspire gossip but the moment she'd merged onto the highway, the inside of the car eerily silent, she'd longed for his boisterous energy.

Oh well. She would see him soon enough. Even if it wouldn't be the same as their weekend in his apartment, it would be something. Dropping the keys in her purse, she leaned over to collect her jacket from the passenger side floor. A sudden bang on the roof of the car startled her. She lurched upwards, screaming at the sight of a face pressed to the window.

"You – Idiot," she muttered, opening the door to push him away. "Don't do that!"

Randy Orton laughed, catching the door before it could slam into him again. "You're always so fucking jumpy."

"Anyone would be with you banging on the car." She pulled on her jacket, grabbed her purse, and climbed out. "Why are you skulking around out here anyway?"

"Why are you driving in?" he asked. The levity in his tone was gone and she looked up to see his calculating expression. "John's been here for an hour already."

"Obviously we arrived separately." She opened the trunk and reached for her suitcase.

"What's going on with you two?" His hand covered hers, stilling her movements. "I asked where you were and he said he didn't know. So what's going on?"

"He's your best friend, ask him." She tried to pull her hand free but the man was stubborn.

"Did he…" His head jerked up at the sound of another car pulling in nearby. Turning back to her, he released her hand and lightly touched his cheek. "'Cause if he did—"

"No." Finally getting her suitcase out, she focused on closing the drunk and locking the car. She found it odd that the man, who knew about her past troubles with John, couldn't even say the words. "He didn't hit me. I almost wish he had."

"Then what hap—"

"I need to go find out what I'm doing tonight. See you later?" Without waiting for an answer, she hurried across the lot to the backstage entrance. She hoped she would be able to avoid more interactions like that. Surely everyone wasn't interested in the fact that she hadn't arrived with John?

Within ten minutes, she realized that everyone knew she hadn't arrived with John and everyone wanted to know why. It took twice as long as usual to make it to the female talent dressing room and even in there she couldn't find peace. Not that anyone came out and actually asked. They hinted, they suggested, the mentioned… They all annoyed her to the point of wanting to scream. She left as quickly as she could, pausing just outside the door to see how long it took before they all burst with their conclusions.

Two whole seconds.

Catering was empty, and she was able to grab a quick bite to eat without being bothered. For an entire ten minutes she was allowed peace.

She heard him before he came in. He was laughing, chatting happily. The food she'd swallowed turned to lead and, appetite gone, she rose to throw away her plate. Three steps from the table she looked to the door. He was standing there, levity gone. Alone.

"Elizabeth," he greeted.

"John," she returned, continuing on her way to the trashcan.

"When did you get here?"

He was still standing in the doorway. Blocking her exit. Trapped, she stepped over to get a bottle of water. "Just a few minutes ago."

"Have you seen Paul or Stephanie?"

"Not yet." She approached him, eyes moving beyond him. She was surprised to see that Melissa wasn't hovering nearby. She'd thought he kept her under his thumb when at the arena. "Why?"

"New storyline. For us."

That made her stop. "Us?" she repeated.

"They're continuing my thing with Wyatt. Tonight they want you to try to interview them after a match. They're going to have him get you on his side." He rubbed the back of his head. "Right now it's leaning towards you sabotaging me at Extreme Rules, then me fighting to win you back at SummerSlam."

"Why me?" she asked in confusion. In all the time she'd been, technically, on the roster, she'd never been used as anything more than an interviewer and occasional commentator. Twice she'd done in-ring introductions at house shows.

"Because you're my wife and, kayfabe wise, the Wyatts want to destroy everything I hold dear." He cupped her upper arm, pulling her close. "I missed you."

"I'm going to go see Stephanie." Shaking off his hand, she slipped past him.

"Elizabeth—"

But she was already gone. And she wasn't going to turn back for further confrontation. She refused to give him time to gather more ammunition against her. Rushing down the corridor, she wondered again why she was going to be used on-air. Wouldn't it have made more sense to start an angle between John and a Diva? They'd done it before…

Rounding a corner, she lurched to a stop at the sight of Melissa. All questions about the upcoming storyline moved to the back burner of her mind.

"Elizabeth, hi." The pretty brunette smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Did John find you?"

"He did." As her gaze swept over the polished young woman, she was painfully aware of her travel-rumpled clothing. And the fact she hadn't had a full eight hours of sleep the night before. She had to hand it to John. Melissa was cute, with her stupid little flats and her stupid little dress and her stupid little glasses. And her stupid little smile.

"Good. I hope you had a restful weekend—"

"Cut the crap," Elizabeth interrupted. "And stop acting like I don't know you're fucking my husband."

Her eyes widened behind her stupid little glasses. "What—"

"He admitted it to me, Melissa. So do me a favor and fuck off."

Melissa had the decency to blush. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted it all out in the open. Now that you know, I can just wait for him to divorce you." She positively beamed. "And then he can be mine."

The slap echoed in the hallway, followed by the clatter of the glasses hitting the wall. Elizabeth bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting to the sharp stinging sensation in her palm. Shoving the girl aside, she began to walk away. Then, remembering John's words when they'd been at home, she turned, lips curving into a smile. Advancing, she took satisfaction in stomping on the glasses.

"Good luck with that, sweetheart," she crooned. "Because guess what? He won't divorce me. No matter how good you fuck him, no matter how much you scream his name, he's still mine."

Melissa's eyes nearly glowed with fury. Hand over her red cheek, mouth moving but no words coming out, she finally turned and ran.

"That felt good," Elizabeth whispered, curling her stinging palm around the cool bottle of water. Even if John did bitch at her about it later, it would be worth it. Let him deal with the little idiot. Let him explain why he wasn't getting a divorce.

After meeting with Stephanie and getting her script – she was too annoyed to argue against her being used – she took the longest route possible to the dressing room. Later she would find Bray to work on her reaction to his speech. For now she hoped to get in a quick shower and then get ready for the photos Stephanie wanted taken for the official website.

A hand closed over her arm. In the split second before she could react she recognized the grip and swallowed her cry as she was pulled into a room the size of a broom closet. The door opened, the light came on, and Dean's lips were over hers in an instant.

The script dropped from her hand. Throwing her arms around him she returned his bruising kiss. So she wasn't strong enough to push him away when so many could have seen him pull her into the room. So she wasn't strong enough to conceal her need for him. Part of it could have been a need for revenge. John did it, why couldn't she? Mostly, she realized as she clung to him, was the fact that she just need him. Just his scent calmed her frayed nerves; his kiss soothed her weary heart.

In a short amount of time he'd become a drug to her. And it scared her more than anything.

"I refuse to fuck you in a closet," he muttered, pressing his face to her neck.

She tried to muffle her laugh. "Good, because I refuse to be fucked in a closet."

"I just needed… Wanted to see you for a minute."

She caught the change in words but didn't comment. Closing her eyes, she tightened her grip on him. "I know the feeling."

"You okay?"

No, she wasn't. But she nodded, grateful for his next kiss.

A rush of air. The body she held onto stiffened. The arms around her turned to steel. Dean's head lifted. When he muttered a curse, Elizabeth turned to look.

A muscle in John's jaw twitched. Hands braced on either side of the doorframe, he blocked her sight of the hallway beyond. His shoulders rose and fell with each breath and an eternity passed before he finally spoke.

"Elizabeth." His eyes remained on Dean. "Can I talk to you? On the bus."

On the bus. Away from prying eyes and ears that heard every word.

"Your little toy can come too if you want. I need to talk to him, too."


End file.
